Enemies Against
by BrokenKestral
Summary: The enemy of my enemy is my friend, but what happens when enemies decide to work together? Peter finds out in the aftermath of The Horse and His Boy. Rated T for violence.
1. Breakfast

**Disclaimer:** **Politics aren't mine. (Shudders.) Narnia isn't mine either. (Sadly.)**

**Beta'd by trustingHim 17, who not only makes the stories better, but makes me a better writer. Thank you!**

OOOOO

"I still say 'twas not my fault, sister mine." King Peter's lips smiled behind his magnificent beard, even as he looked at his fellow rulers in protest.

"And I say it was," Edmund retorted from the other side of the table in Queen Susan's garden. He reached for one of the fresh fish an elder Mr. Beaver had brought to Cair Paravel just that morning, laying one of them on his plate. "They would have left us entirely alone, good my brother, and the battalion behind us would have, on my orders, detained them quietly. But the Magnificent High King _must_ ask them their business-"

"I was being neighborly, the question being a good way to begin conversation with our subjects-"

"And such an inquiry from the High King Himself threw them into such confusion and fear they drew their arms and gave mad battle for the next half hour before the battalion caught up." King Edmund calmly picked up his tea, sipped it, and set the cup back down again. "The scar on my arm has yet to heal in full, my brother. And the fault is all your own."

"I merely called out the question as a greeting!"

"In tones designed to strike fear into any evil heart."

"I have heard your greetings, my brother, and truly they are loud and kingly," Queen Lucy put in, her eyes laughing over her plate of eggs. "Those with guilty consciences may well mistake such questions for a sharp demand."

King Peter sighed. "Good my sister and our sweet hostess, wilt not disagree with these two mistaken siblings?" he appealed to Queen Susan. Though not outwardly laughing, a small smile graced her face.

"Truly, it is good for a king to speak with his subjects," she began gravely. He bowed to her in thanks, but mock-scowled when she added, "even if the tones he uses are ones better used in the training yard and not, perhaps, over a breakfast in my garden."

"I am rebuked, my sister." Peter flourished the small silver table knife in his hand as he bowed yet more deeply.

"As am I," Edmund added, bowing as well. They held their straight faces as long as they could, then fell to chuckling over their food. Peter, looking at his three siblings, felt once again the thankfulness that filled all of him for their safety. It had been a year, as of the morrow, since he returned from his war with the Giants to find his sister had nearly been made wife or slave of a presumptuous prince who knew nothing of what he coveted. Aslan had punished him for it, and Peter was gravely glad for it, but gladder yet that his siblings were together, Edmund alive (and poking fun at him), Susan hosting, here, and happy, and Lucy returned from yet another war with no scars. It made the meals they had together a celebration of home for the High King.

This breakfast passed agreeably, and then the Four rose together to go to the Great Hall once they had finished.

"It will be a long day," Lucy sighed as they neared the large doors.

"But a necessary one," Peter remonstrated gently. He looked to his other sister. "Will this be well with you, my sister?"

Queen Susan hesitated, her foot paused from taking a step back from the doors. "I am home," she murmured to herself.

"And none may take you away without your consent," Edmund said in low, firm tones, stepping forward to grasp her arm reassuringly. Susan drew in a breath and gave the other three a brave smile. The whiteness of her face would not be noticeable to any but those who knew her well. Peter smiled back at her proudly, and if there was a sadness to it as well, his siblings did not see it in the darkness of the hall. He offered her his arm, and their younger siblings mirrored their stances behind them.

"Courage, Su, courage," Lucy whispered as the doors drew back and a Centaur herald intoned, "High King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy, to see the delegates from the Tisroc of Tashbaan!"

OOOOO

**A/N: So, this is my next long story. It's from Peter's perspective, which is always harder for me to write, and I welcome constructive criticism. I've noticed a trend in _most_ authors in each fandom (not all!) to write mainly about one particular character, and I'm trying not to do that myself. I've had a few Susan stories, a couple Lucy stories, a Caspian story, and a recent shorter Edmund story, but I needed one of Peter. I also wanted to make it distinct from _Kidnapped_, so this one, while having some action, will have a lot more politics in the first half. Hopefully I can do that without it becoming boring! But again, please let me know if there's something I could be doing better.  
P.S. This is _not_ the story I was envisioning all through December, by the way. I thought it would be, and I could combine the two, but this one insisted on developing itself into a story the other one couldn't fit into. Bah, humbug!**


	2. Second Breakfast

**Disclaimer: The delegates of Calormen and the rulers of Narnia turned as one to inform me of my lack of ownership, and I've not skill enough to match all of them at once and win Narnia for my own. You try arguing with Edmund, Susan, Peter, Lucy, and the Calormenes all at once and see if you win!**

**Maybe I'll ask Oreius for help.**

**Betaed by trustingHim17 - thank you, thank you, thank you! However, she was also kind enough to point out a problem with the wording I was using, and I went back and edited that myself, so any mistakes you read are probably the direct result of that.**

OOOOO

The Four were seated with their usual pomp and fanfare (or distinct lack thereof). The five Tarkaans, new to Narnia, were all diplomatic enough not to sneer. Well, _almost_ all diplomatic enough. Peter ignored the beardless one who wasn't.

"We welcome you to our kingdom of Narnia," the High King began. He paused; normally, especially with new Calormen representatives, Susan would speak next, a smooth interjection that reminded the Calormenes of her authority.

"And we request you send our thanks to your Tisroc, currently living in power, for agreeing to renegotiate the rights of the waters," the Gentle Queen added. Her voice was calm, serenity and power implied in every word. Inwardly, Peter smiled; however much she might be shaken, his sister never let her fears touch her outward mask when she was on the throne. It was one of the reasons the kingdom relied on her so much.

The Tarkaan in the front, his beard a glistening black and his eyes half-closed, bowed in response. "The Tisroc (may he live forever) sends his greetings to you, O favored Barbarian Kings and Queens of Narnia. As the poets have said, peace is like the water of the gentlest rain falling on the farmer's crops, and so, in his enlightened wisdom, our monarch in his great enlightenment moves to be at peace with Narnia again. We bring with us a few small requests of the land of Narnia, that the peace may be settled to the benefit of both our countries. Uvayeth, unroll the scroll of our requests, that we may go at once to the purpose of our visit, and not detain these four wealthy and doubtless wise rulers."

Another Tarkaan - Uvayeth, presumably, and also the beardless youngest of the group who had sneered at the four - stepped forward and bowed also, holding a rolled scroll in his hand, but paused when Queen Susan spoke

"Perhaps it would please you to wait before we begin. We broke our fast this morning, but as your ship arrived with the morning sun, it would surprise me if you have yet had a chance to enjoy the food of Narnia. We ask you, of your courtesy, to allow Narnia to show you hospitality, and perhaps to address the requests this afternoon?"

"But-" the youngest Tarkaan protested, only to be cut off by the leader of the delegation.

"Peace, Uvayeth, and keep thy young tongue between thy teeth, for 'wisdom is the province of the old, but youth speaks foolishness.'" He bowed. "Gracious Kings and Queens, truly hospitality is a mark of favor from the gods, and we would be pleased to accept yours."

"Then be pleased to come this way," Lucy said, standing. Her brothers stood at once, and, with a bow, Edmund reached to escort her. Peter extended his arm to Susan, but slowed their pace to fall behind, out of earshot of their siblings and the group of visitors following them.

"All is well?" he asked softly.

"My ears are less inclined to hear their words of poetry or flattery now, my brother, for in them I only hear the dulcet, deceiving tones of Rabadash." She shuddered, then visibly gathered herself together and smiled at him. "But all about me are my loved ones, and I remember that none of us are prisoners here." Susan smiled. "Narnia is freedom," she added softly.

"And Aslan is safety," Peter finished. He bowed and kissed his sister's hand. "Your courage is a blessing, on Narnia and on us. Shall we speed our pace, that our guests and siblings may not miss us?"

It was foolishness, of course, to expect that Lucy and Edmund hadn't noticed their absence – they had – but the guests, listening gravely to Lucy's cheerful tones and Edmund's wise remarks (better than any of their poets' sayings, Peter thought uncharitably), had not noticed the brief absence from the large, airy room with long tables and cushioned chairs against the walls, filled with many of Narnia's lords and ladies, human and animal.

The food on the tables was Narnia's best, the fruits of the field, honey found and shared by Bears, uncountable nuts from the Squirrels, and Peter, when he was allowed to eat in peace, quite enjoyed his second breakfast. But, after perhaps an hour of unenjoyable small conversation and delicious food to make up for it, he noticed his three siblings grouped together, allowing the Narnia court to occupy their guests. He frowned and made his way over.

"I think they do not favor it," Susan was saying. "Remember, my brother, the food in Tashbaan?"

Edmund shuddered. "I swear I tasted oil on my tongue for a month after, and the smell of fish set my manservant to choking, when he came upon my clothing." Lucy and Susan smiled, but Susan pressed on.

"Our food may be difficult for them to stomach, so soon after a sea voyage. Should we not offer them what reminds them of home?"

"From now on, perhaps," Peter agreed, causing three heads to swivel in his direction. "But it would not be fair to our good servants to ask them to serve yet another meal this morn. If they still suffer the sea malady, they will eat but lightly."

Susan acquiesced with a curtsey and moved away to see to their guests, Narnian or Calormen. Lucy went with her, but Peter stayed a moment to watch the two, grateful and glad once again that Aslan had seen fit to spare both to remain with them.

"My elder sister is very sensitive to the care of our latest guests," murmured a voice beside him, and Peter knew without looking that Edmund was watching them as well.

"Not out of a desire to go back, my brother," Peter quickly assured.

"'Twas not my worry." Edmund paused, and out of the corner of his eye Peter saw the Just's two Leopard friends, Leo and Por,* turn their heads, their ears twitching. One of the reasons the Just King got along so well with them was because they had the ability, between them, to hear everything that happened, or so Edmund swore.

"Then what?"

"'Tis a sign, if I know her, of her hiding her discomfort. These guests bring unpleasant feelings to our fair sister."

Peter shifted; Edmund knew what he was going to say, and it was unusual for his brother to cause him to state what they both knew. "We cannot send them away; we have lost too many sailors to these sea battles with Calormenes, and claims of piracy aside, I do not believe the Tisroc (may he cease his warring ways soon) will let such a slight to his house pass without harrying us as he can. We need them here. At least till the treaty be finished."

"I _know_." Edmund's voice grew softer. "But I would set aside all other things, my brother, and finish this soon. By the end of tomorrow, if Aslan be willing." He paused. "You did not see our sister's fear in Tashbaan, but I cannot forget it. She feared to lose all the things she ever loved, to never see those bright and beautiful things again. She said aloud that she brought ruin, calling herself the cause of all her loved ones' misfortune, rueing the day her eyes had turned to their prince. The Calormenes' return has made her grasp at her beloved world with fearful fingers."

Peter looked back at his sisters; Lucy was bending forward to gravely discuss something with a Hedgehog, the youngest Tarkaan standing impatiently at her side. Susan revolved from one guest to another, listening with gracious attention, and Peter could read nothing wrong in her stance, though he kept a careful eye for it. But he trusted his brother's judgement. Edmund, with the eyes and mind of one who weighs hearts justly, had sometimes seen more than he had.

"I will cancel the smaller matters," the High King responded, raising his hand to signal one of the messengers. Robin flitted down from the rafters and landed on his arm. Running through a list of the items for the day, Peter found he could cancel most of them, leaving the rest of the morning for their guests and all of their evening; their afternoon was to be taken up with a court to hear reports on some mysterious disappearances near their northern border, and that Peter could not cancel.

"It is done," he said quietly to Edmund, hoisting Robin into the air.

"Good, my brother. I will arrange for us to meet with the dignitaries this evening, where we can at last give attention to what that son of an ill-begotten imp wants to show us." Peter raised an eyebrow; normally Edmund was not so emphatic in public. "He's been making Lucy uncomfortable." Peter snapped his attention back to his sisters to find Uvayeth was still standing next to Lucy, his fingers tapping the scroll as he spoke emphatically, taking up her full attention. "He has not left her side, since first we entered. I know not if it be pleasure at her company, or desire for a Narnian throne, or an ill-fated attempt to sway her to Narnia's harm-" Peter snorted; as if- "thinking her easy to mold, but I like it ill."

"And I thank you for drawing this to my attention," Peter said, starting forward, only to have Edmund halt him with a hissed whisper.

"Lucy can handle herself," he reminded Peter.

"That does not mean she should have to. With the last knight from Galma, you also interfered, why-" Peter, catching the glint in Edmund's eye, turned back around swiftly, only to see Leo and Por slinking through the crowd—and heading straight for Lucy and Uvayeth. "This is of your planning," he said to Edmund, who only smirked.

"I started nothing, my brother. I merely mean to watch our subjects help one they love deeply." Edmund and Peter were both tracking the Leopards now, eyes fixed on the great Cats and identical smiles growing larger as they saw Por slow and meander a bit farther away. They had seen the brothers hunting before.

Leo moved first, walking up behind Uvayeth with stately grace and brushing the Tarkaan's side on his way to stand with the Queen. The Calormen started, flinching away, but the Cat took no notice, and, arriving at Lucy's side, sat beside her, tail twitching, and leaned into her. The Queen gently set her hand on Leo's head without taking her attention away from the Calormene, but her brothers could see her lips twitching as she tried not to smile.

Behind Uvayeth, Por stalked forward on noiseless feet, coming closer, and closer, and closer to the unsuspecting Tarkaan. When he stood a breath away, he sat in a position identical to his brother, tail twitching, and growled. The ambassador whirled, yelped at the sight of the Leopard so close, spun again in confusion to verify there was an identical Leopard still sitting by the Queen, and hastily stepped to the side, away from either. In the silence that followed his exclamation, the entire courtyard heard Lucy's straight-faced remark, "Perhaps you have not met Leo and Por, verily two close friends of mine, and often my companions."

Panting, Uvayeth glared at her, but, as another of the Tarkaans cleared his throat pointedly, bowed and said, "Truly, as the poets have said, the earth is filled with things man may not understand, but the brave go to meet them. I am honored to be introduced the friends of such a Valiant Queen."

He bowed—barely, his eyes darting from one Cat to the other, but he did offer a shallow dip—and Leo and Por purred in perfect timing, dipping their own heads in response.

Peter couldn't help but smile, because, thorough as they were—and they had done this before—he knew Leo and Por were not quite done. Por's growl had been a signal.

Moments later, just as conversations began again, Peter strained his ears and heard the heavy footfalls of some of Narnia's larger animals. From separate sides of the room, two halves of a Wolf pack came running in, paused at the crowd, and then five of them skillfully wove through the court, heading directly for the two Leopards and Lucy. On reaching them the Wolves sat in a circle stretching from Por to Lucy's other side. The Tarkaan, who had been starting to explain whatever-it-was he thought important to Lucy again, stuttered back to a halt, staring at the large Wolves who sat, panting, their tongues lolling out and, in some cases, licking very large, very white teeth, left in full display as the Wolves breathed.

The Tarkaan went white.

Peter, walking slowly forward (so as not to miss any part of this unfolding drama), began to smile as his sister spoke.

"These are other friends of Narnia's throne, Socrates, his wife Salsha, Rena, Durai, who is head of the pack, and here is Rena's husband Ralf. And behind you, Uvayeth of Calormen," and the pale man spun to see a very large, graying Wolf approaching slowly, mouth closed and teeth covered, but growling softly, her fur beginning to bristle, "comes our subject Ren, who took me into the pack as one of her own when I was but a child.** Ren, good cousin, how fares Cair Paravel?"

"Forgive me, Queen Lucy, but I see Ikelken my master beckoning. The blessings of Tash upon thee," Uvayeth said hastily. He blanched when the Wolves and Leopards all growled at his words, not noticing Lucy smiling in acknowledgement, but Ren took another step forward when he moved.

"Welcome to the land of Narnia, Calormene Lord. Perhaps sometime you'd like to go about the castle and the gardens and see the sights; I will escort you." Ren smiled now, eyes dark above the white teeth. "I'll make sure it happens; I know I would enjoy the walk." Uvayeth bowed still more hastily and fled.

"Rescued by the Wolves yet again, sister of mine?" Edmund asked teasingly, sliding into the circle beside Leo.

"They are quicker to my aid than my brothers, it seems" Lucy responded in the same tone. She looked around the circle. "My thanks to all of you, loved ones."

"But perhaps you should scatter," Peter murmured to them, looking to the side. "The Gentle Queen seems somewhat unhappy with this enthusiastic welcome of our guests." The four-legged Narnians took one look at the approaching Queen and quickly scattered—though Peter noticed one of the Leopards once again staying within earshot.

"At our royal brother's suggestion, we have arranged the afternoon and evening so there may be no other matters than court, so we may meet with the ambassadors at once, my sister," Peter said quickly, before Susan could speak. "They should be most happy to hear of it, particularly Tarkaan Uvayeth."

"So he may pardon the manners of Narnia that brought his dark cheeks to a palor like a barbarian's?" Susan asked with a raised eyebrow. "But 'tis well thought of, Edmund, and I render thanks. It may make up for the rest of thy conduct," and her tone still rebuked them.

"He would not leave Lucy alone."

"Lucy could handle him with far more grace than row after row of shining teeth, my brother. She is a Queen in her own right."

"But I do not regret the rescue, my sister, only that you were inconvenienced," Lucy chimed in, kissing her sister's cheek. "The Tarkaan must be eager to prove himself, for there was more matter and less poetry to his talk than I have yet heard from a Calormene."

"Truly?" Susan asked, her attention fixing on her sister, and the other two also gave her their sharp attention. "Perhaps we should spend our time better preparing to meet them in a battle of wits, then, if this means so much to the Tisroc and his Tarkaans." She looked to Peter. "This evening we meet?"

"This evening," he said, nodding.

"Then I shall leave the hosting to you, while I go and review our documents. I'll bring them to lunch," she added, forestalling any protests that they all might need such reviewing. "And do try not to scare our guests anymore while I'm absent. It would be wise to save such tactics for later. If we need them."

OOOOO

*Introduced in my story _Loyalty.  
_**This story is told in _Kidnapped._

**A/N: Did you catch the two Lord of the Rings (movie) references?**

**A/N2: I don't tend to make New Years resolutions, but I do tend to review the habits I've had for the last year, and wonder about improving them (or changing them, if they simply haven't worked). I realized I need to focus more on my original writing this year, so I am going to start publishing once a week instead of twice. Do people have a preference as to whether I post on Tuesdays or on the weekends?**


	3. Here There is No Breakfast, Just Court

**Disclaimer: written in the lobby of my work because I arrived an hour early to avoid the six-to-eight inches of snow that will soon be falling on us, and therefore too philosophical to be Lewis's clear, precise, concise, incredibly deep work.**

**Beta'd by the wonderful trustingHim17, in spite of her busy week! And the scene with Peter's beard was created in a conversation with WillowDryad, who gets at least half the credit (if not a great deal more. An argument could be made for 15%).**

OOOOO

Lucy spent the rest of the morning with the Wolves, Peter noted with a smile. One would not have thought, years ago, that _Wolves_ would become Lucy's second family in Narnia. (Along with Mr. Tumnus, of course. Lucy's first friend, who had, over the years, also come to view the Pack as a place of safety—something Edmund said a touch acerbically was like watching a goat and a badger be adopted by wolves and then act like nothing could touch them because of their second family.)

Susan had been placed under Edmund's protection through the rest of that day, something she graciously accepted. Between the two siblings, any Calormene who approached them was soon politely, respectfully routed, and Peter grinned to himself in anticipation of the meeting that would take place that night. Edmund and Susan always did like going in with an advantage. A day of clear social victories would be a definite advantage once the bartering began. It was funny, how sometimes a king's table could so strongly resemble a market stall.

Peter, on the other hand, was not having such success with his self-appointed task. He'd undertaken to collect as many witnesses and information for the events of that afternoon's court as possible, but had found the results to be dishearteningly few. The problem the court addressed was beginning to sound like a matter requiring further investigation. With the treaty with Calormen already weighing on his mind, Peter sighed at the addition of another problem.

But that was one of the reasons there were four of them, he reasoned with himself. The other countries could say what they liked, or sneer, but it had been Aslan's plan, and like all of His plans, it proved good. It might be rare to have four rulers who could work together without fighting—but his siblings made that very easy.

Most of the time.

Well, real fights, anyway. On important things.

He sighed, walking down the corridor. This wasn't helping him find what he needed. But there was one more place he could try. Only he didn't really feel like climbing to the top of one of Cair Paravel's highest towers. "Good cousin, may I have a moment?" he inquired of the Squirrel currently climbing up the wall.

"At once!" the Squirrel piped, swiftly turning upside down and jumping off the wall and onto a burnished side table in one flying leap. He sat up to attention, tail fluffed and trembling with excitement, eyes bright. Peter smiled internally; a new, younger page, then, and one who would actually enjoy fulfilling this request.

"If you have the time to spare, would you climb the Tower of the Nests and request any of our messengers who have been to our Northern border within this past fortnight to attend on this afternoon's session? I've no liking for the stairs this morn, with all the chasing after courtiers I've been doing," he confided to the wide-eyed Squirrel.

"I won't use the stairs, sir! Your Highness, I mean, yes, sir, I'm going sir, right away Your Highness!" The Squirrel jumped for the wall again, missed, and fell onto the soft carpet with a muffled _thump_. He jumped up again quickly, stammering apologies, and was off before Peter could say it was quite all right.

"My thanks, good cousin!" Peter called after him. Peter thought wryly that Edmund would say this was another incident of him being neighborly gone wrong and insist he should leave such things to Lucy. Somehow Lucy managed to be friendly without being overpowering, and someday, Peter was sure, he'd learn how she did it.

Though the last time she'd spoken to a new member of the staff—a Skunk who had just begun working in the garden—she'd accidentally startled the Skunk so badly it sprayed her, and though Peter hadn't teased her about it, it _had_ been comforting to know such things happened to Lucy, too.

"O foreign king, and leader of this land of wondrous creatures, I, Ikelken of Calormen, need but a moment of your time," called a smooth voice from down the corridor—the opposite way of which he'd been intending to go, of course—and Peter turned to see the oldest Tarkaan hurrying towards him.

"How may I be of assistance?" Peter asked politely.

"O King above other Kings," and Peter winced inside, for that was more Aslan's title than his, even if it was true he was above Edmund and the other kings who would follow, "forgive the impoliteness of this request, but the youngest of our group is impatient, and as the nephew of the Tisroc (may he live forever) himself, I must listen when he presses. Should not the meeting of Narnia and Calormen to discuss the peaceful sharing of the waters of the great sea come swiftly? For the days delayed are days pirates may plague both our peoples, and a peaceful alliance would greatly increase both our strength. Would it not be prudent, At great one, of course, to make the resolution of it immediate? We await but your convenience."

"There happens a court this afternoon that may not be delayed, for the needs of our people are great, but this evening, at your convenience," he added, using the Calormene's own words, "my royal brother and sister have arranged our meeting. Is there yet anything that you require before then, guest of ours?"

Ikelken bowed. "Your generosity and timeliness will be long remembered by your people, High King. This evening it shall be. I look forward to our next meeting and pray the blessing of Tash on it."

Peter kept his face impassive, but prayed that the blessing of Tash would not attend the meeting, for Tash had no blessings to give. "In Narnia we ask rather the blessing of Aslan; if that be something your mind or heart is not comfortable seeking, then so be it, but it is the Lion who rules here, above us all." He bowed, turned, and left, making sure to take several shortcuts through rooms that would make following him impossible.

He managed to avoid other unpleasant meetings before the court that afternoon. It was not a public court, but a gathering including the present leaders of the army, the Four, the steward of the castle, traders who worked their way north, scouts from outposts along the border, and all the people Peter had asked to come. The Four seated themselves, their subjects bowed and collected themselves into groups, and the court began.

"It has come to our attention that eight of our beloved subjects have gone missing along the Northern border of Narnia over the past six months." Peter looked to his left. "Is this correct?"

"Five and a half months, but yes," Edmund returned. He looked at the scouts. "Has there been any commonality noted—a place all the missing ones were known to have been, a common friend, or behavior their family and friends took note of, before they vanished?"

The head scout, a willow Dryad of great age and wisdom, shook his ponderous head, his hair rustling with the sound of leaves even as he moved gnarled and knotty hands in graceful motions. "They all lived within a day's walk of the border, my King, but were taken from various points along it, the greatest distance being at least a two day journey as the crow flies. Some of them had never met, nor do we find them to be of the same profession or interests. One was taken on his way to a journey with a friend, another from his house, judging by the wreckage, and a third from her boat along the river—it was found drifting, her lunch still in a basket inside. None have seen anyone, and by the time we bring the Dogs, Wolves, or Cats there the scent is often cold."

"The wreckage suggests they have been removed by force," Susan said, thinking out loud.

"And from such a large area, it would seem to be kidnappings of opportunity," Edmund added.

"And no one has heard nor seen anything?" Lucy asked, looking towards the Birds the Squirrel had summoned. "I heard of this first from the Jays; is there no further word?"

A Hawk hopped forward, spreading its wings in a bow. "Some of your people have kept watch at your request, my Queen, and we have seen hurried paces of the ones who live there, Narnians going about in larger groups, and some have seen bands of people moving back and forth across the border. But such is normal, when the giants of Ettinsmore are active; Narnia's border provides a haven for those who run. We have seen a few more of those recently, but till now we have not given them much mind."

"Captain, and Scouts, I wish to start tracking them. If Narnians are disappearing, I would know the movements of any visitors within our borders," Peter ordered. The willow Dryad and the Captain of the soldiers in the North both bowed. "What else is there that we have heard, that we may seek to arrive at an answer to this worry?" Peter asked.

"I have heard the complaints of those seeking their lost ones," Edmund responded. "Of the eight, six were happy in their homes, and with much to look forward to as summer draws near. Of the other two, one was restless and looking for adventure, and one was drawn to the sea, but both families assured Us their lost ones would have left word, had they gone willingly to seek a different life."

"And none of have seen them since," Peter pondered. "There is nothing they have in common?"

"Forgive me, Your Majesties, but that isn't quite true," said a timid voice from the grouped scouts. A young cherry-tree Dryad flowed forward, pink petals crowning her hair.

"Yes, what is your name?" Peter asked.

"Sakura, Your Majesty. I keep watch on the northern border in a pleasant valley. One of the lost, a Son of Adam, would come and sit beneath my tree often. I grew uneasy when he did not come for several days, and first spoke to the scouts of him going missing. When we looked for more who were missing, and found them, there was one thing they all had in common—they were all Sons of Adam or Daughters of Eve. There is not an Animal, Dryad, Faun, or any other creature missing; only those of the race of Adam and Eve." She paused. "I am not sure what this means, Your Majesties. I only thought you should know," she added shyly, drawing back into her group.

"Our thanks to you, Sakura," Peter said. He glanced at Edmund. "Not entirely kidnappings of opportunity," he remarked quietly.

"Nay, this speaks more of a hunt," Edmund replied grimly. "All of the race of Adam and Eve—could it be those left from Jadis's reign, think you? Still they harbor great hatred for our race."

"Those of her camp were wiped out years ago," Lucy protested. "Narnia has not been troubled with them for an age."

"There are those who fled Narnia, and now live outside its borders. Indeed, the mountains of Ettinsmore are filled with caves that would easily hold those unsatisfied with Aslan's rulers." He looked troubled. "But I am not easy about taking soldiers into the land of the giants to find them, High King."

"No, not with a war so recent," Peter sighed. "Nor do we know if it _is_ a group of Jadis's renegades, as they have not been seen. But we may watch the borders, warn the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve, and send three companies of soldiers with those who return. Captain, take them with you, to strengthen your watch."

"And I bid you, Birds of the air, to watch yet more carefully when you fly, and follow, if you would, any of the race of Adam and Eve that any sees, that we may learn what troubles the north of Narnia," Lucy commanded.

"The court is dismissed," Susan declared, and the Four watched as their people filed out through door, or window, in the case of the birds.

"I like this not, my siblings," Susan ventured.

"Nor I," Edmund agreed. "'Tis a problem that should require our full attention, and yet-"

"And yet there is the problem of our seas to attend to as well," Peter finished. "I need you here, my brother, and my sister also, for none may match wits with the Calormenes as well as the two of you, and yet I doubt they will listen closely to your decrees in my absence."

"Not with war so close," Lucy agreed. "I could go, my brother. Many Narnians speak easily with me, and if I took the pack of Durai, no harm would come to me there." The High King smiled; he expected nothing less of his youngest sister's courage.

"And yet, till we know more, my sister, to have any Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve wandering that border would be to invite the trouble that plagues it. I would find out what the trouble is some other way than sending my sister to it, nor any other of Adam's race."

"And I would keep you here, Lucy, to cheer my spirits till our guests are gone," Susan added gently, as Lucy looked unhappy, though she did not protest. "Besides, I shall need your help, good my sister, with a yearly task that has arisen again."

"What task is that, Gentle Queen?"

"That of persuading our royal brother the cold weather is past, and he no longer has a need for his golden beard," Susan responded, eyes dancing. As one, the two Queens turned to look at Peter, who had covered the bottom half of his face in mock alarm.

"Desist, my sisters! The air of spring still chills the mornings, and grateful I am then for this warming of my face!"

"But Magnificent brother, is not the cold itself a part of your training? What would General Oreius say, if he knew that you cling to a beard for such a softening reason? Indeed, he would have your beard shaved in a trice."

"It also grants me a fiercer visage in battle, which is of help to keep me alive! Is that not a cause worth protecting, my sisters?"

"Nay, but we are at peace!" Susan interjected. "And at such times it were well to appear less fierce, and is not the gathering with the Calormenes this very night? Away with the beard! Come to the tables with a more peaceable look, my King—to make up for the great and kingly voice you so often unwittingly apply in our halls."

"Besieged on all points! Edmund, will you not help me? Come defend thy brother!"

"Nay, in this you fight alone," Edmund laughed. "Much entertainment is given to me as I watch what must be a losing battle, for rare is such under your hand; and I'll not help with what all here know is a lost cause."

"Truly, my brother, I have one argument to make that even one such as you cannot refute," Lucy broke in, and Peter turned to her warily, for her eyes were merry. "On watching you speak with our esteemed guests but this morning, I saw with sadness that there was much resemblance between you and them, but could not narrow the cause in my mind till this moment. But truly, the beard does you a great disservice in such company, by making you appear as one of them."

"No!" Peter cried, stroking his beard. "Truly? Alas, then, the beard is vanquished! For no desire have I to appear as anything but one of the barbarians of the North, Aslan's chosen!" He swept the three a deep bow. "By nightfall this warrior's addition shall be gone, and I shall appear at the tables peaceable, fair of skin and fair of chin. Till then, my sisters, farewell!" He marched out to the sound of their laughter echoing in the large room, and smiled.

But the smile faded as he walked on. True to his word, he headed towards his room to (reluctantly) shave his beard, but his mind was much more on the border in the North, the people there, and on the meeting that night, and the strange pressure from the Calormenes for this to be finished soon. "Aslan," he murmured, "I like this not. We are but men, and can but do our best, but I remember when You took our best and made a great nation." He slowed, finding once again the rest that came from remembering the works and words of the Lion. "Lead us forward once more, Aslan, once more—to whatever end and whatever obstacles You send." He smiled ruefully. "Up to and including my sisters' taste in appearance."

OOOOO

**A/N: Ow. Ow, ow, ow. I shoveled snow for about 4 hours today, and I ache all over. And there's more coming tonight. (By the time this is published, by the way, it will be old, and I won't be sore any longer, but it makes me feel better to complain about it tonight. :)**


	4. A Long-Winded Council

**Disclaimer: I as much own Narnia as I own the weather; and neither are obeying me right now, so I'm pretty sure I don't own them.**

OOOOO

The council took place in an antechamber adjacent to the Great Hall, a comfortable room with colorful tapestries on the walls (telling the tales of Fair Olvin, Lady Liln, and the two-headed giant Pire), a round table in the middle with four smaller thrones on one side and five comfortable chairs on the other. Edmund had thought Orieus, Tumnus, and Sallowpad the Raven ought to attend as well, but Susan had noted both the scorn and the fear of their youngest guest, and had insisted their guests would be more comfortable dealing with humans alone. Peter, after some thought, sided with Susan, leaving the impressive councilors as a reserve, should the negotiations go ill. Thus it was that only the race of Adam and Eve met that night.

"In the name of Aslan, come and be welcome," Lucy began. The Four seated themselves, and the Calormenes bowed and sat as well, though Ikelken stood up to speak a moment later.

"O great Kings and Queens and O munificent Rulers of Narnia, we come at the bidding of Tisroc (may he live forever) to speak and discuss with you the terms for an agreeable peace between our peoples. We bring with us the demands of the great country of Calormen, knowing that kingdoms such as yourselves may benefit from the protection of our ships and the peace we bring to the waters-"

"I think by sea our strength is equal to yours," Peter interrupted dryly. Beneath the table Susan laid a cautioning hand on his arm. "But insofar as it depends on our actions and is agreeable to our beliefs, peace is to be sought."

Ilkelken nodded gravely. "Thus with the favor of the gods and by fortune's blessing, we sailed across the sea to fall in to a council with the people of Narnia and reach an agreement beneficial to all. We bring with us this scroll," and again Uvayeth produced it, setting it on the table, "and we ask and charge that Narnia considers our demands and requests, and the peace be concluded and upheld."

Edmund was already reaching for the scroll, ignoring the discourteous way Uvayeth refused to slide it towards him, forcing the King to nearly stand to reach it. The Just King brought it back to his seat, unrolling it on the table far enough out his siblings could see. Lucy and Susan, on either side, leaned towards him to read as well. Peter kept his eyes and pleasant smile fixed on their guests. His siblings reactions would tell him what he needed to know till they could pass the scroll and take over the conversation while he read.

"We thank you for the efforts of your journey, and we look forward to your skill in negotiating." He still kept his peripheral view on his siblings, but he knew they were currently going through the two or three paragraphs of greetings and statements of intent every Calormen document began with and would be a while. "As peace is agreeable to both our peoples, we also look forward to the conclusion of our efforts." He smiled again, even as he watched one of the dignitaries' eyes glaze over (one of the Tarkaans he didn't remember meeting yet). It made his smile much more genuine; he knew that some of the Calormenes enjoyed listening to meaningless words about as much as he did. "Our requests are mainly for the capture and punishment of the Calormene pirates who wage war on our ships and murder our Narnian people. For every outrage against a Narnian ship, we demand the help of the Calormen navy - great indeed - to capture the miscreants. For surely with two such fleets on our seas, the capture of the pirates who murder and harm all would not be hard to accomplish. And they would have nowhere to flee, if Calormen and Narnia both seek their destruction." He could feel his smile growing fiercer, and two of the Tarkaans leaned away.

He was rather good at implicit warnings, Susan had complimented him.

But his smile was hard to keep when Edmund stiffened and Susan sucked in gentle, quiet breath. Whatever they'd read hadn't bothered Lucy - she glanced quickly at her siblings in confusion - and Edmund abruptly rolled up the scroll and stood, his siblings following his lead a few startled moments later and the Tarkaans rising in response.

"We ask for time, good guests, to consider your requests in council with each other," the Just King stated, eyes watching intently for the Calormenes' reactions.

Ikelken began to bow, and another - the third, who had not moved at Peter's smile - nodded as well, muttering, "The blessing of Tash be on that, for the terms are neither fair nor wise," but he was interrupted by a frustrated voice.

"O great Rulers and O strong Kings," Uvayeth rushed, passing over the words as quickly as possible, "could this not be resolved tonight, all charges and agreements sealed? The favor Narnia is shown is clear for all to see. Only an ignorant ruler with no knowledge of Calormen's strength and army would reject such an offer. Of what need have you of council? The scroll is clear before you. Sign it at once!"

"Uvayeth!" Ikelken spoke sharply. "By the gods above, I charge you speak no more! Be silent! Be assured that never again will I drag you to council of king or common merchant!"

"Curse you for a cowardly Calormene! Think you I, nephew of the Tisroc himself (may he live forever) will listen to the son of a merchant? Your peasant blood shows in every softening word. There has never been more favor offered by Tisroc's (may he live forever) own hand!" He turned from his countryman to the Four. "At the peril of the gods do you refuse or parley. Sign the scroll and be done!"

"That we will not," Edmund said softly, but at his voice the room stilled, the Tarkaans frozen at the dark threat within it. "We are not yours to command, no matter how great your power in Calormen. Even your Tisroc himself may not command us; Aslan alone is our great leader, and after that the High King." Uveyath's eyes flashed to Peter, anger, and something else, written on his face. Edmund's gaze sharpened further. "Be wise in the eyes of all and let your betters speak of peace, if you would have it done." Edmund turned to Peter, ignoring the growing anger on Uvayeth's face. "Would the High King be pleased to adjourn for council?" Peter nodded, and the Four filed out the door, leaving their guests to be served with food and drink by the servants standing in the corridor. The hall had been filled with whispers when the Four came out, but the Narnians immediately offered a bow or curtsey and went in to serve the guests. The Four swept into a small, windowless room, with a plain tapestry hung over the wooden door to keep out sound.

"What bothers you, fair friends?" Peter asked quietly. "What have the Calormenes requested that causes such alarm in face and voice?"

"They have requested but little, brother of mine. Almost nothing." Edmund still had the scroll in his hand, and he raised it, offering it to Peter. "They but ask for free passage for unarmed ships in any of Narnia's waters, and for goods to be untaxed when they be sold on our shores." Peter frowned; this was nothing Narnia could not grant, and that easily. "They are _Calormenes_, born to bargain, with greed for gain, and yet this is all they ask? This is not what their hearts desire." Peter took the scroll, and Edmund began to pace back and forth in the small chamber. "What they _do_ desire is hidden from my sight. I mistrust these requests they come bearing."

Susan spoke, her eyes thoughtful. "Fault not yourself for what you cannot see, my brother. Methinks your eyes be blind for this cause, that the Calormenes are not united in desire. Ikelken wishes for peace, even to the sacrificing of his dignity; hast noticed?" Edmund, who had stopped pacing and turned to listen, nodded. "But Uvayeth desires something else altogether. I like not his face when he looks on our brother."

"Or our sister," Edmund agreed, eyes flicking to Lucy before coming back to Peter. Peter nodded calmly; he had little fear of what Uvayeth could do to him. For Lucy's part, her hand was skilled with dagger and her heart fierce for what was right.

"What of the other three?" Peter asked quietly.

There was a brief pause. "The one that spoke last desires naught but the gain of Calormen, I would think," Lucy offered slowly. The other three nodded.

"Such are easy to treat with, for truly Calormen's good is to be at peace with sweet Narnia," Edmund said. "Lamash may even prove useful, to balance those who lean too far to haste or cheating. The other two, sweet sister?" he asked of Susan.

"They are but un-Narnian sheep, who follow where led like the quietest of charges," Susan said, though her eyes were troubled. "I remember many of Rabadash's followers being such."

"Then we leave little attention - though some, to be wary - to the Lords Aikaden and Igteroth," Peter decreed. He slumped, a little weary, against the wall, for the day had been a long one. "What is to be done with this offer from the Tisroc?"

"Put it to rest, till further chance is had to sound out the hearts of the three who are not as dumb as unspeaking animals," Edmund said, also leaning back against the wall. The two kings leaned their shoulders on each other, an unspoken promise that gave them both heart.

"And what ways would you test them, my brother?" the High King asked.

Edmund looked to Susan with a raised eyebrow. She thought for a moment before speaking. "I would give excuses to show them the different riches of Narnia, good consorts, and watch their eyes, to see what most lit them-be it arms of Dwarven skill, treasure of kings, land rich and green, or the bustle of the market."

"And when what they desire is revealed, then we speak on the subject of their heart, and wait for their heart to be revealed," Lucy finished, her head tilted to the side. Susan nodded, touching her arm with light fingers in thanks.

"And what be our excuse for the delay? Uvayeth, at least, will demand one, and that right loudly," Edmund said, grimacing. Peter shoved himself off the wall, standing straight.

"He has no power to command here, and I would have him know it. Our actions need no excuse to him, for having given no courtesy, he deserves none."

"And if the Tarkaan Ikelken asks?" Susan questioned gently.

"Then we tell them we seek Aslan's council on this, and we make such a statement true," Peter responded. "I have heard tales of their daughters seeking the council of their own foul gods before marriage*, or sometimes by their sons before war, and such a reason is beyond quarreling." Edmund's slowly growing smile lit his dark eyes, and Peter smiled back, looking at his sisters, who were also smiling in approval. The only thing stronger was the affirmation of Aslan, and that was still to be sought. "Shall we ask for a week to consider, fair friends?"

A week they asked, on returning to council. The Calormenes were standing and did not seem inclined to sit, so the Four announced their decision immediately. Uvayeth, standing sulkily at the back and scowling, looked up sharply at their words, but he said nothing. Peter wondered if Lamash had stepped on Uvayeth's foot to stop him speaking, as Susan or Lucy had sometimes done to him. But the pause after Peter spoke was heavy, and Ikelken's dark eyes were watching the Four hesitantly.

"Might I ask, O glorious and exalted ones, what in the scroll meets with the disapproval of such wise and judicious monarchs? If it be the outburst of the son of Tisroc (may he live forever), then the apologies of myself are extended towards each of you. Surely as those who are wise beyond your years, with the wisdom acquired over years of gentle reign and courteous visits, must not allow the actions of a beardless boy to disrupt the negotiations of nations?"

"Such an insult to the throne of Narnia we do not take lightly, Calormen Tarkaan, but neither would we let it stand in the way of peace. The terms are fair to us, and welcoming. We merely wish to ask the blessing and guidance of Aslan on this treaty, for we do not take it lightly." Ikelken's shoulders relaxed slightly; then he bowed. "If it please you," Peter continued, "We would show you more of Narnia within the week wherein We seek His will. Please stay as our guests, for the hospitality of Narnia is open to you." Ikelken bowed again, and Peter inclined his head. "Today has been filled with many of the duties of Kings and Queens, and we would retire. May your rest be sweet, and your dreams be of peace."

"May the - light of the stars shine on you," Ikelken temporised, catching himself mid-sentence.

After the Four were back in the hall, Peter offered Susan his arm. "Tomorrow morn, we divide our guests for testing, if it is to your liking?" he asked, partly over his shoulder so Lucy and Edmund could join as well.

"Uvayeth is mine," Edmund said grimly.

"Already Rabadash was yours; Uvayeth will be my challenge, my brother," Peter responded just a grimly, feeling a small flinch run through his sister at the recollection of Edmund's fight.

"A pity, for I had thought to see what I could make of him," Lucy sighed, then smiled at both her brothers, teasing them.

"A discussion for the morning, methinks," Susan remonstrated gently.

"As you wish, Gentle Queen," Peter acceded. "Lucy," he called back, recollecting one more thing from the very long day, "know you the name of a new Squirrel page, who clambers nimbly on walls and falls off them when spoken to?"

Lucy laughed, once again lightening the hearts of her siblings. "Yes, truly! Patterfeet he is named, and he comes from the Western Wood. I greeted him in the gardens, and he fell from the tree in his shock, only to arise unhurt, thank Aslan. But when I asked for his help, he flew faster and lighter than any page I have seen. 'Twas a marvelous thing." She paused, looking down the corridor where her own bedroom rested. "Methinks he will take well to life here after he realises how much dreams and duty mix to become joy, for those doing Aslan's will," she finished softly. "Sweet rest and peace be yours, my loved ones."

"Peace and rest," they chorused, watching her go. When she was safely within her chamber, they went to Susan's corridor, and bid her goodnight as well, again watching to make sure she was safe, a habit of their nights at home. Edmund was next, and he stopped Peter from going with a hand on his arm.

"Uvayeth has the temper of a youth, the arrogance of an untested Lion, and the sense of a frightened Rabbit. But for all that, my brother, he is dangerous. Walk warily, if he be yours to guide tomorrow."

"I will take your words to heart, brother of mine. Rest in Aslan's paws." Peter smiled, watching Edmund safe as well. But as he departed for his own chambers, his hands strayed nearer to the hilt of his sword, and he watched the shadows as he walked. He could not tell if his awakened suspicions were playing him tricks or if he was truly being watched that night, but for the first time in years, Cair Paravel no longer felt safe.

OOOOO

*At least the daughters of Tarkaans, according to _The Horse and His Boy_.

**A/N: I've had a couple of comments asking when the story's action will pick up, and for any readers who are wondering, the negotiations will probably last for three or four more chapters, and then it goes more from politics to action. **


	5. Tedious Guests

**Disclaimer: I'm not that well acquainted with **_**real**_** geography, despite having traveled so much; inventing an entire world is quite beyond me.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, who has beta'd all these chapters with painstaking help for the ornate language, and I can't believe I've forgotten to credit her in former chapters. My apologies!**

OOOOO

"Have the Tarkaans yet commented on the new absence of your beard, my brother?" queried Lucy merrily the next morning, dipping her bread into the breakfast pudding before her.

High King Peter scowled at her. Unable to settle himself or his warning instincts, his rest had been short and disrupted. "Less than my sister has, O fair one. Cease your merriment, if it please you, for my head aches this morn."

"Then at once I cease," Lucy responded, her voice soft and kind, and Peter felt the touch of Susan's fingers on his forehead.

"I feel no fever. What ails you, my brother? Surely not thoughts of our guests? By Aslan's grace, we have these six days to reveal the secrets of their hearts."

"Or is it those in the North who have vanished, whose unknown fate weighs heavily on your mind?" Lucy interjected. "If it be so, still I claim I could go to the North, my brother, and find those who dare to lay their hands on our subjects. I would cause them to cease right speedily," she finished, her eyes nearly sending sparks into their breakfast. In spite of his headache, Peter laughed.

"I do not doubt your Valiant spirit. But peace on that, till we know more. To the North I do not send you. Yet."

"Then if it be not sickness nor these our troubles, what causes these shadows?" Susan questioned, one hand touching the darkened skin under Peter's eyes. Peter hesitated.

"We are Four, my brother, and not one." Edmund's quiet voice pulled Peter's attention to his brother's face, and the quiet intensity of it reminded Peter that they did not bear burdens alone. His siblings had the right to know of his fears.

"I know not if it be Aslan's warning or my own fancy, but last night the shadows seemed to hide danger, and our home to no longer be safe." Peter shook his head. "Though we divide up our guests today, I would not have any of us go alone. Take with you such as can guard you well and yet not alarm our guests."

"Uvayeth is yet yours?" Lucy asked quietly, mindful of her brother's headache. Which would, all of them knew, probably be much worse by the end of the day, as he nodded in acceptance of his fate. "Then I request that Ikelken be mine. I would make him my friend if I could, and the friend to Narnia, if only to ease his heart. His mind is fair, and his will set. I work to see if Aslan will claim such a one for His own." The three siblings nodded assent, reminded yet again of their sister's great heart. "I will ask Trela the Eagle to be our companion this day. Between her winged claws and my dagger, Ikelken falls if he attacks."

Not that he would, Peter thought. He was not such a one to attack unannounced, as Rabadash had been. Lucy at least would be safe.

"Then I lay my claim to Lamash," Edmund stated, smiling one of his more dangerous smiles. "It will be a day of matched wits and draws, I do not doubt, but such a day is as necessary as the days Oreius claims us."

"And the companion for your battles?" Peter reminded him.

"Hmmmm. Perhaps I shall ask our feathered Librarian to lend us his wits. The past has proved the Owl's talent for upending onto their backside any who displease him in the library, and once down, Lamash would be but easy prey," Edmund said, grinning at the remembered misfortune of some of their rowdier castle dwellers.

"Then the sheep shall both be mine," Susan said with a sigh.

"Aikaden and Igteroth will be as gold in the hands of a dwarf by the end of the day, I have no doubt." Peter, ignoring the increasing pain as the light from the window grew brighter, smiled at his sister. "Who will be of help to you as you herd them, fair consort?"

"Mr. Tumnus visits here today, and will at request speak much of Narnia and its beauties, assisting me in the testing of their greed." Peter nodded assent; since the return from Tashbaan, Susan had often gone to their Faun friend when needing either reassurance or advice. "And you, my brother—who claim you as your companion on this glorious day?" Susan asked.

"Since our good guest is already acquainted with Leo and Por, I thought to imitate my sister and request their services," Peter said dryly. "But that would lead, methinks, to a terror not conducive to our goal. So I give my knightly word to keep to well-crowded corridors or keep stout Narnians by my side, and ever my sword at ready." The other three looked at him sharply, and he sighed. "Peace, my siblings. I will not walk alone with him, my word on it. But his heart holds, perhaps, the deepest secrets, and I would have him off his guard." He could see they did not like it, but as he was not truly taking much risk, neither did they object. Susan instead laid down her glinting silver fork, and folded her hands in her lap.

"Before we break from this our meal, I would ask of you your attention, my brothers and sister." She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the plate before her.

"Susan?" Lucy questioned gently, when their sister failed to speak.

"I have rendered my apologies to you three this year again past, but it seems what mischief my blind judgement wrought is not yet finished." Peter did not have to see her hands to know they were tightening together under the table as she strove for composure. He yearned to interrupt, but knew his sister needed to say what was in her mind, if it was to be refuted and made into truth. "For the trials that continue to come from that foul land, which I in my fallen fancy favored, I ask your pardon once more."

"The desire of Tisroc and his Tarkaans for our land is _not _your doing, sister fair," Edmund's quiet voice broke in. "His father permitted his desire for your hand for he thought it would lead to Calormene soldiers in our land, and from our land they would spill to Archenland, the North, and all the lands that are not his own; the Lone Islands would also be his, and from there he meant to send his fleet on the other islands, besieging them from both directions. Now that thy favor is withdrawn, and that plan be no longer valid, he seeks but another way to put his foul plan into play. Be at peace; this second venture is not of your doing."

"And it is not _your_ fault, my sister, that your Aslan-blessed beauty caught the eye of such a spoiled brat," Lucy added, a little tartly. "To show him favor was your mistake, and it is forgiven. But you cannot say, gentle sister, that your showing favor brought this one, for you haven't shown any."

Susan's face broke into a small smile, reassured, but not completely convinced.

"The greed of those such as we guess our guests to hold would not be stayed, nor can it be laid at your door. He is here because his heart urged him, not because you did," Peter stated firmly, catching his sister's eyes and holding them. "Nor would it surprise me to learn some of our guests were sent to us by Aslan; He has worked thus before."

"And more, my sister, Rabadash himself has been naught but peaceable since the festival of Tash, when he became again a man. Aslan used your mistake to humble him, and I would not be surprised if we breathe much easier when his father dies and he becomes a peaceable Tisroc."

"Such is the grace of Aslan, for our mistakes," Susan agreed, looking thoughtful. "I thank you for the mercy you show in His name, my siblings."

"Always," Lucy said quietly. "For all have need of it."

The Four rose soon after, three going various ways to library, eyrie, and a tea room not far to request their subjects give them both time and protection through the day. Peter walked directly to the room their Calormene guests breakfasted in. A Dwarf announced him, the five Calormenes rising from mostly empty plates and bowing. Peter saw at a glance they had oil, toast, fish, and a few other dishes Narnians would consider odd, and was thankful Susan had remembered this courtesy. He inquired after their health and rest, and then requested that they spend their time accompanying the Narnian Sovereigns throughout the day, unless they had other business they wished to attend. Ikelken accepted with grave formality, and Uvayeth again pushed his way forward.

"O my host, what of the Jewel who reflects the light of the sun, the younger Queen? Surely one such as she toils not nor spins, but breathes into Narnia its very life. I wish to see more of her, if the gods allow. Does she wish for the company of her guests the great Calormenes as well?"

Peter sternly reminded himself that, no matter how bad his headache, he was not allowed to physically harm their guests. "The Queen Lucy spoke of her wish to show Tarkaan Ikelken the joys of Narnian flowers and people. I requested your company for myself, sir, for surely we have much in common in our interests in arms and like." Uvayeth's face fell into a scowl, scorn twisting it at the thought of being compared to Peter, but Ikelken hastily agreed before he could protest. Peter did not envy the older Tarkaan the task of keeping such a boy polite.

"My royal sister Susan wishes to speak with Lords Aikaden and Igteroth, and King Edmund the Just heard praise of Tarkaan Lamash's wits. They come behind me shortly, but I wished to give time to ready yourselves. Please send word with a Page. Narnia awaits you." He bowed and left, stopping abruptly in the corridor when he heard raised voices in foreign accents. He paused to listen, not knowing if he was needed—but heard Ikelken and Uvayeth yelling at each other, and shook his head. That was not his fight to resolve. For now he strode to the gardens, wanting a few moments of peace to rest his head before the day began.

* * *

Peter was right. A few hours into the morning his headache was much worse. He had taken Uvayeth first to a balcony above the training courts, as below him Fauns, Dwarves, and Centaurs clashed with arms, Badgers and Cats wrestled with bared claws, and Horses reared and whined. The courts took up one entire side of Cair Paravel, for the cacophonous clamor was such no other business cared to take place near it. He pointed out first the differences in learning such races had to be trained in, but Uvayeth responded with a twisted mouth and, had he dared, rolled eyes.

"Perhaps it would please you to see their armor made," Peter inquired politely, and Uvayeth had consented with a lot of words and little warmth. Peter called for horses—not Talking ones, of course—and noted Uveyath examining the leather, and the gold crest tooled into it. He did not comment, but made sure, on reaching the forges (and, at peril of his life, were he not the High King, interrupting the Dwarves briefly with a bow) to take Uvayeth past their store of metals, piles of them, including one of gold. The man's face had lit, but not just at the gold – at each pile, Peter could see him counting the breadth and height of them, even more than the piles of finished armor. So not money, Peter thought, but unmade metal? With time for little more before Cair Paravel met for lunch, Peter took him (and a Dwarf) down a corridor studded with gems, a place the Narnians lit with hundreds of candles at festivals, and one of Cair Paravel's greatest beauties—and richest hallways. The Calormene's eyes had once again counted the gems, estimating them, but with less greed and less speed than the piles of rough materials. Peter wondered what the man would think of Narnia's great forests. Perhaps that was a task for this afternoon.

Uvayeth, scanning the walls still, looked curiously towards the two immense doors at the end of the hall.

"There lies the thrones of Narnia, wherein we sit only in judgement or to dictate new laws." Peter paused, for Uvayeth's curiosity did not fade. "Would you care to see such a place?"

"Indeed, it would be my delight, O my host and O King," he responded, bowing. Peter led the way, lifting the bar and shoving at one of the immense doors. It opened without creaking, but the silence of the stone hall, larger even than the Great Hall, and the gravity of the power of this room, kept Peter quiet, thinking. The light filtered in from openings in the high ceiling, towering taller than twice the height of the tallest Dryad, and at one end, on a dais at the end of twelve steps, were four gold thrones. Peter, once again asking Aslan for His help to rule this land well, glanced over at the Calormene.

His eyes were fixed on the golden thrones, the largest one with Peter's crown engraved on the top, and his face twisted into the horrid mockery of humanity that belongs to undisguised greed. Peter, protective of his country and disliking such greed near the thrones, said shortly, "Lunch is near, and it would be wise to be early. Come, guest of Narnia." He led the way out with swift steps, and dragged the door firmly back into place, letting the bar fall back. He then walked towards lunch, not letting Uvayeth walk behind him and unobserved. He offered the Dwarf luncheon as well, and the three walked quietly in the hall where many Narnians were already eating. Uvayeth gathered food from the servants and went to sit with his countryman, and Peter looked around for his siblings.

"Peter," he heard hissed behind him, and he turned—sitting in three chairs against a wall were his siblings, all together. He grabbed a nearby empty chair, lifting it and setting it in front of them with little trouble. The instant he sat his subjects gave him a plate full of food, and left their Rulers to speak alone in the circle of chairs they had formed.

"What found you?" he asked them quietly.

"Aikaden and Igteroth are but men who desire to go home, with honor added to their names, and the Tisroc's (may he be generous to the foolish, however long he lives) approval adding to their treasuries," Susan said quietly. "Their desire for gold is not matched by courage or cunning to gain it by any dishonest means, unless led to it by others more cunning than themselves."

"As we thought," Lucy murmured. "Edmund, what of your guest?"

"He cares for nothing Narnian but what Narnia may bring Calormen," Edmund put in. He too kept his voice low. "What a Lord might be made of the man! But his cunning is bought dearly, I would wager, for under his sleeves his arms bear scars of one who has been in the prisons of Tash's accursed priests." His eyes glanced quickly at Peter; the two Kings had some of those scars on their own arms. "Whatever pain taught him, dishonesty was not among the lessons his soul took. He watches his words but does not lie with them, and he covets naught for himself, nor even for the dying Tisroc, only for his country. He seeks to win Narnia's treasures for Calormen by wits and by our clumsiness."

"And did he find his wits to be matched by Narnia's King?" Susan asked, a smile glimmering in the corners of her mouth.

"As the morn wore on, almost we made ourselves friends in our fights," Edmund answered, grinning. "Rivals we will be, lifelong, if the new Tisroc is wise and grants Lamash such power. But the Tarkaan's respect is won, and if friendship follows, I would welcome the challenge of matching an honest, cunning man."

"If he is as he seems," Peter muttered. He knew he shouldn't be surly, but truly, his headache was much worse, and his brother's enthusiasm made him grumpy. "Valiant Queen, what of your guest?"

Lucy looked at him gravely, and Peter wondered if his pain showed in his eyes, for Lucy's hand reached unconsciously for where the chain to her cordial would be, were she wearing it. But she answered her brother's question without mentioning it. "I heard much of his story," she said, glancing over to the Calormenes' table; and again compassion wrote itself on her face. "He stared towards the border of Archenland with a sadness I have seen before, in the faces of families of those I have not reached in time." She touched the absence of the golden chain around her neck again, eyes still on the older Calormene. "I asked him to speak of what was in his heart, and he spoke of his cousin. The two grew up as brothers in a family of merchants. Both desired more than the counting house or the slow passage of the seas, and both joined the ranks of Tisroc's men. His cousin was a great warrior, and rose to become one of the greatest there, earning himself the rank of a trusted Tarkaan by his deeds. Ikelken rose more slowly, helped by the words of his cousin, but rise he did—in the palace of Tashbaan, where words were his weapons, instead of his cousin's choice of scimitars. But a year ago the son of Tisroc called all the most trusted members of Tisroc's soldiers together, 200 strong mounted on horses, telling them they went to destroy a threat to the life of the Tisroc. Before he left, Ikelken's cousin called his brother of the heart in and bid him farewell, telling him all. The prince led his soldiers into the desert and through it, and so to Archenland, where he bid them kill each male man and child and take what they willed for themselves. But Archenland had drawn shut its gates, and Narnia came to her aid. Ikelken's cousin fell, fighting against a threat that never existed, and two months past Ikelken's father's brother also fell in a battle on the seas. Though the ambassador did not say so, it would be fair to think he fell raiding a Narnian ship, and Ikelken wishes with all he is to stop the continued falling of men into senseless deaths. So he says, and I believe him, my siblings. His sadness is true, and there is no anger in his heart. Almost I wish he would stay and be healed, here in this land, and not return to a god who celebrates his festivals with death. There is much need in him for Aslan."

"Two sheep, an honest wolf, and a broken man," Edmund murmured. "Who put these men together as ambassadors—and with such a paltry request? I wonder if the desire hidden in the goodwill springs not from them but from the hearts back at Tashbaan itself, my consorts fair. What of Uvayeth?"

The three other siblings looked to Peter, who leaned back against his chair and shook his head. "I know not fully what he wants, only that he looked to the unmade metal of the Dwarves' forge with greedy eyes, and at the thrones in the Hall of Judgement with a heart greedier still, though if it be their power or their worth as precious metal, I know not."

"Perhaps tomorr-" Edmund began, but was interrupted by a voice to the side of their circle.

"Your Majesties are up to mischief," growled a low voice behind them, and Peter turned to see Ren standing there, her dark eyes fixed on them and her graying muzzle sniffing.

"Mischief, good Mother of the Pack? Why call you our meeting such? 'Tis merely lunch, surely," Lucy answered, eyes warm.

Ren snorted. "And when my children wish to get away with anything, I first find them and their spouses together, plotting." She paused, looking from one of the Four to the next with penetrating eyes. "As you are not _just_ Cubs, but rulers also, I will not demand to know your business. But you should know, Your Majesties, Oreius and myself are both wary of what you may be up to, and we're employing several of your subjects to see that you keep out of mischief."

"We sit grateful for your care, Ren," said Susan. She reached out a hand and brushed the Wolf's head. "Truly we but speak of the manners and hearts of our guests." Ren looked over at them and snorted again.

"Two smell like prey, one smells like scrolls, one smells like tears, and one smells like a hunting Wolf before it buries its teeth in your neck." Lucy covered her mouth to hold in her laugh, and Ren shook her head. "Aslan's blessings on you, Majesties. Still, I'll keep Leo and Por's ears bent towards your words," she ended, trotting away, and Lucy uncovered her mouth to laugh merrily.

"Next time let us just ask the Wolves what their noses have smelled before we spend such a morning, so our eldest brother avoids his headache," she gasped. Susan, her glance sharpening, caught the attention of a nearby servant and murmured a request for a cup of soothing tea, setting in gently in Peter's hands when it arrived. He sipped it gratefully, but set it back in its saucer with a sigh.

"This morning our most unpleasant guest requested to spend his day with our youngest Queen," he told his siblings, again pitching his voice low, though if Leo and Por really were listening, that would not help much. Lucy frowned, and the two other siblings sat up straighter. "I mistrust the shadows of even our home, and wish that you walk in no place alone, my sister. Peace, I do not doubt your skill with dagger or bow," he said quickly, seeing her objection. "But we do not know of what Uvayeth has planned, and I would not chance your safety again. 'Tis but a week; grant us that, for our peace of mind?"

Lucy sighed, but gave in to the three faces that looked at her pleadingly. "You have my word, and that I will not break," she said quietly. "While our guests remain, I will not walk alone in any place."

"My thanks," Peter responded, smiling at her in gratitude.

"I think Mr. Tumnus could be persuaded to extend his visit to such a length," Susan said thoughtfully. Her smile growing, she looked back to Lucy. "And of late you have lamented you see him little. Would the company of such an old friend be acceptable?" Lucy's resigned face lit with her own smile, and Susan nodded. "I shall make that request now," she said, rising. "Wilt walk with me, my sister, so I too may not be alone, and accosted? For I too trust your skill with dagger." Lucy laughed, and took her sister's hand, both brothers rising till they walked away.

"Think you he means to try for Lucy?" Edmund asked quietly.

"For her throne at least. That I have seen him to covet—though truly I do not think marrying the youngest would content him; he looked towards my throne, not hers. But it is her he asks for, each time the choice might be offered." He looked towards Edmund. "I do not mean to offer him the choice. Our sister has endured enough, without suffering the ill-thought and unwelcome attentions of such rashness."

"Both have suffered enough; we shield them as we may." Edmund paused. "Though such suffering be the price of being Aslan's Queens at times."

"Yet it is our privilege as brothers to lighten such a price. Us, and our subjects."

"I would not object to having the Leopard brothers follow one sister, and the Wolves another."

"Agreed."

Edmund smiled. "I'll find the brothers, you find the Lady Ren?" Peter bowed assent, and the two separated.

OOOOO

**A/N: The action should pick up in the next chapter, or at the very latest the one after, for those who are waiting. But it will probably be the next.**

**Response to Anonymousme: I've read the latest chapter of Belana-and it is satisfying to see her come into her own. I am hoping we get a bit more of the reaction of her _former_ clan chief, but I'll enjoy it as it comes. I'm updating once a week now (on Tuesdays, if knowing the day helps, though I'll freely admit it can be anytime on Tuesdays, from 5:45am to 10pm, depending on how the day has been!). I'd like to concentrate on my original work through this year, so I've dedicated Saturdays to fanfiction and Mondays to original work; I'll keep writing, but a bit more slowly. I was completely stumped when creating a summary for this story! I sent trustingHim17 a rough outline of the plot, and she was gracious enough to create a summary. I didn't want the summary to give anything away, so I'm afraid you'll just have to suffer for now. *Impish smile.* Thank you for reviewing!**


	6. The Threat Manifests

**Disclaimer: I may start a savings account to see if I can buy the rights to Narnia, become a millionaire, and create seven movies that echo the book in almost every detail, but until such money becomes mine, Narnia does not belong to me.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17 - look, I remembered again this time! **

OOOOO

Peter strolled the halls, looking for the Wolf who had so lately interrupted them. She and the Pack often patrolled the halls willingly, for they felt it was their territory and theirs to keep safe. It had, in the past—particularly when an unpleasant Dwarf had taken his axe to a few of Cair Paravel's support pillars—helped to keep everyone much safer, but it also made them difficult to find at times. Peter, however, enjoyed the quiet reprieve the search offered and didn't enlist help.

So it was Peter was wandering about the halls when his brother and the Leopards found him. Peter, curious as why the Leopards were with Edmund rather than Susan, let the question die before it reached his lips when he saw Edmund's grim face.

"What news now, King Edmund?"

"News I have, and ill. Hast found the Pack and sent them to our sister?" Peter shook his head, and Edmund sighed sharply. "Patterfeet!" he called, and Peter heard a curious _thump_ from the hall down where he'd come and the quick scratches of scurrying clawed paws swiftly following. A few second later Patterfeet came in sight, Edmund speaking before he'd fully reached them.

"Find at once the Wolves of the Cair, and bid them go to Queen Lucy. They are not to leave her, and bid them guard her well."

"At once!" Pattertfeet squeaked, bowing. As he straightened he hesitated, eyes flashing to King Peter. "But, but, Oreius said, he said-"

"My brother will not leave my side till Oreius again has a Narnian trailing him; my word as knight and king. Now off!" Edmund replied, Leo adding a low growl to emphasize the words. Patterfeet bowed once more, taking a single instant, then leaped four times his height onto the wall and ran on it down the hall, once jumping over a tapestry.

"We go to find them as well. The more eyes the better." Peter lengthened his stride, going the opposite way from the Squirrel, and Edmund easily matched him, the Leopards falling in behind. "Leo, repeat for the High King what your sharp ears overheard. In the order you told me, that he may hear all."

"I left my brother to watch the noble Tarkaans and went to market to find what Narnia thinks of our guests. I heard first the stories of Narnian disappearances from the border, grown into taller tales than are true, and little talk of Cair Paravel's guests. But after I had walked the market many times, and still heard nothing of note, I caught the unpleasant scent of fish and oil, of a man who stinks with such things and lives in them, and I heard his soft footsteps slinking down an alley, as if the human trying not to be heard." Peter smiled grimly; such sounds as they made were all too loud to a Cat, even a Great Cat. "I jumped on top of the nearest roof and followed him, doubting he would look up. He was dressed in a turban, not the rich purple or scarlet of the Tarkaan guests, but a simple white, as their soldiers wear. He did not know his way well, and cursed barbarians and even Aslan Himself," and Leo's words became a growl, "till he found his way to a gap between two houses overshadowed by trees. I have found illicit dealings taking place there before; whomever he met, knew of the hiding places of criminals. I could not see for the branches, my Kings, and I am sorry, for the Calormene and his uneasy partner met to discuss how and when they could procure the person of Queen Lucy, and whether or not seven or eight somethings, I do not know what, were sufficient payment. I leaped onto the tree, and from there jumped down, meaning to demand in Aslan's name they stop their foul business, but the branches betrayed my presence—I am no Panther—I am so sorry, my Kings, but when I reached the ground they had run, and I could find neither."

"I should have come," Por growled. "I am faster, and we could have chased both, and one we could have caught! But no, I stayed to watch the Lamash go to the counting house and figure the balance of Narnian coin to Calormene crescent!"

"Peace!" Peter thundered, his stride already lengthening. "Regrets do nothing; there is no mistake to learn from either. Leo, We commend you on the warning you gave; 'tis to us now to act. To the North Tower, Por, with all your speed, to find if the Queen is there; Leo, to the gardens, she might go there to walk. Edmund-"

"I stay with you," Edmund interrupted. "I gave my word to take Patterfeet's task of following, and till I am released, I stay. We will find her," he promised, even as the Leopards bounded away, Por passing them in a trice. "Now save your kingly breath to run."

Run they did, knowing, however their hearts urged them on, it was useless to sprint till they could not breathe. The steady run Oreius trained into them, loping strides to match a Centaur's trot, heads swiveling down each hallway and sometimes stopping to knock on doors. She was not in the kitchens, up the stairs to where the Naiads were singing, in the Great Hall, nor the treasury, and Peter wished in frustration his sister was not so well traveled!

"Mr. Tumnus," Edmund gasped at last, pausing Peter. She'd be with Mr. Tumnus.

"Her sitting room," Peter realized, and once again the two kings turned to run. Up one flight of stairs, down an arched hall, up the flight of stairs at its end, and Peter's heart began to calm as he heard beautiful, fluting music, growing louder as they neared her rooms. They did not bother knocking, but opened the door, rushing in at once, and seeing a startled Mr. Tumnus with his pipes still on his lips though he was no longer playing, Queen Lucy with her head tilted, listening, in her favorite chair, and Ikelken with tears on his cheeks on her couch.

"Oh dear, oh dear, something bad must have happened," the elderly faun said, his pipes falling.

"What ill tidings bring you at such speed, my brothers?" Lucy asked, rising swiftly, her hand falling to the dagger she now had belted around her waist. Peter paused and glanced at Ikelken. His turban displayed a deep blue, and he did not seem at all guilty, but Peter did not trust him near Lucy at the moment.

"News came of an urgent need for you, fair sister. If our guest would excuse us?"

"The peace of—peace and success attend all your endeavors," Ikelken replied, also rising. He bowed in the doorway, Peter watching him till the door closed. In other circumstances he would have been impressed with how quickly the Calormene left, giving up the greetings of his people, but for now Peter had no trust in them.

"The Leopard Leo overheard a plan between Calormene and a person unknown to kidnap you," Peter told his sister bluntly. She did always prefer the outright truth.

"For what reason?" she asked calmly, her hand still on her dagger, while Mr. Tumnus puffed up in indignation.

"Kidnap a Narnian Queen? Such has always failed, by the grace of Aslan, oh, why must people try again?"

"We do not know, my sister," Edmund put in more quietly, ignoring Mr. Tumnus for the moment. "Their plans were interrupted before we could learn more, but I would have you away from here."

"And go to where? There is surely no safer place than Cair Paravel! Except to be at Aslan's own side," Lucy added as an afterthought.

"Not while we entertain guests who may let their collaborators behind our walls," Peter pointed out grimly. "Where do you think to send her?" he asked Edmund.

"Archenland, though without letting rumor fly of journey or destination," Edmund said quietly, lowering his voice. "There are naught there but our friends during this season."

"So I shall slip away in the night?" Lucy questioned, and Peter saw her good humor start to rise at the prospect of another adventure.

"The Wolves go with you," he warned her, and her smile grew larger.

"Would you have me steal a horse from our stable and go meet them, my brother, or by what means do you plan to get me unnoticed from behind our walls to the open road that may be seen many miles ahead?" she asked Edmund, who frowned.

"I was more concerned with finding you first, sister fair," he said dryly. "But we could yet try—what is the matter, Mr. Tumnus?" For the Faun, as he had once in Tashbaan, was holding his horns as if his head would fall off and dancing about, thinking.

"I thought, I thought—behind the Low Dunes, the Wolves pulling it out—provisions, of course, I hadn't thought of that—stop, stop, stop! I'm thinking!" though the siblings had said nothing. At last he let go and nodded his little head. "What if we didn't go by the road?" he asked carefully. "Two nights past the Turtles came again to our shores, and Purpoise and Squint* asked me to give their greetings to the Queen. There're unused rafts behind the Low Dunes; if Queen Lucy goes to visit her old friends-"

"And the Wolves pull out a raft," Peter added, catching on.

"And the Turtles do not mind guiding the raft, which they will not," Edmund interjected, a smile beginning,

"Then off we race to Archenland!" Lucy finished. "But did you say 'we," Mr. Tumnus?" she asked, smiling, and he bowed to her.

"May I have the privilege of an old friend and invite myself to your adventure?"

"I welcome you," she answered, holding out her hand.

"And I give you thanks for going," Edmund added.

"Seconded, old and faithful friend of ours. Yet you mentioned problems with provisions?" Peter asked.

"I don't know how we are get those without attention," Mr. Tumnus admitted.

"Susan will; my sister ever astounds me with her ability to manage such things in ways no one notices. 'Tis how surprise parties happen for the Kings and myself, always by her hand. The little that we require will cause no problem," Lucy assured him.

"Then, good cousin, I request you go and quietly tell our sister the news, and beseech her to provide such as you, Queen Lucy, and the Wolves may need on this journey." Mr. Tumnus bowed and went out, and the two brothers waited till the door shut behind him. Then Peter held out his arms, and Lucy came and hugged him. Peter held her a moment, relishing the fact that she was safe, and this evil plan had been so far thwarted. "Stay safe in castle in Archenland," he told her, and Edmund's hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Aslan goes with me to all places," she reminded them. "Cor, Corin, and Aravis will prove most pleasant companions, and it will be little time before I am again home." She hugged Peter tighter, then let go, spinning to embrace Edmund as well, holding him just as long. Peter watched them, and asked for Aslan's blessing on her journey, and on Edmund's safety as they hunted down those who planned his sister's ill.

For neither brother would be resting soon, and Peter's eyes grew hard as he thought of how much was bent against them at this moment: Calormenes with fair words and unknown intentions, evil at the north border, and now a plan to take the youngest Ruler.

"If your face remains in such a look much longer, brother, I fear you will not even need your voice to frighten away all who see you," Lucy broke into his thoughts. She came closer to him, looking up. "What is it?"

"The Calormenes, the north, and now this," Peter explained. "An ill wind blowing from many directions, and there seems to be little shoring against them."

"The north may be solved!" Lucy exclaimed, brightening. "Captain Stonewar sent word by the Eagle Swiftflight. One more kidnapping was attempted, and word of it was waiting on their return. A band of ragged and disreputable men, talking of the profit they would make from his sale, chained a Son of Adam and dragged him to their camp on the border. But the Son of Adam learned smithing at the hands of Dwarves, and knew of how to break the rusting chain. He escaped his tether, fleeing and finding nearby a Talking Horse, grazing, and the Horse offered its speed. The Scouts and soldiers set out for the band that very day, finding it and giving chase; since the chase no glimpse nor tracks of the band has been seen."

"Then one worry is set aside, though not finished," Peter agreed, sitting down with a sigh. "Glad am I to hear it." The other two sat beside him.

"So we need only hunt in Cair Paravel," Edmund murmured, the fire of a Judge seeking justice in his tone. "The hunt begins soon."

"Our sister safely gone first," Peter reminded him, pausing as they heard light footsteps running up the stairs. All three stood, hands stealing to their weapons, but falling back to their sides when the door opened and Susan stood breathless in the frame, three leather bags swinging in one hand.

"Mr. Tumnus has told me all," she said, her eyes going to Lucy. "Oh, Lucy, you are well?"

"It is my turn to play the bait, my sister," Lucy reassured her, eyes twinkling. "But poor bait I shall be! For I go to dwell above the fishes, not lure them in."

"And here is food for your journey," Susan said, handing her the largest bag. "These two I give for the Wolves. But you will go, and soon?"

"As soon as the Wolves, Turtles, and Mr. Tumnus be ready," Lucy responded. She turned back to her brothers. "You sent word?"

"To the Wolves; Patterfeet goes swiftly down the walls of our home. Speaking," Peter said, turning back to Edmund, "of our good cousin the Squirrel, who spoke briefly of _following me,_ what meant he by that?"

"You have lost some skill, if your aging eyes did not notice," Edmund teased. He and Peter looked at each other a moment, agreeing to lighten the mood for the sake of their sisters, and play out this quarrel. "For all the four of us have shadows, set to task by Oreius after he spoke with Ren. Lucy's was to be Mr. Tumnus, though I fear he forgot in the newest news we brought. Oreius will have words with him for that!"

"No, he won't, for Mr. Tumnus will not be here," Lucy interjected, and Edmund bowed to her, sitting down once again.

"I found, on inquiry made to our good general, that my sister Susan's shadow was delineated to a Mouse,"

"The one washing all the furniture behind me, no matter where I went?" Edmund nodded, and Susan shook her head. "The poor dear thing."

"Peter's was the quick and clever Patterfeet, whom he did _not_ notice, and mine was the Kitten a few weeks old, for Oreius was requested to start his training young."

"Then yours was easier to notice, my brother, and you have but little to crow over with such loud voice!"

Edmund's reply was broken off by steps outside once again, this time many of them. Peter drew his sword as he rose, Edmund taking up a stance by his side as they stood between their sisters and the door. The door slowly swung open, Peter keeping his grip light and versatile, and then he relaxed as the Pack poked their heads in the door.

Explaining the situation took little time. Ren did not like leaving Cair Paravel unprotected (no Pack liked completely leaving their ground). Socrates and Salsha agreed to stay, though under protest, for Socrates had liked Queen Lucy from the first. But Durai overrode him, and he, Rena, Ralf, and Ren agreed to meet by the Low Dunes, Rena staying with Lucy as they walked to the shore, and Ralf fetching Mr. Tumnus to the same place. To their dismay, the older siblings realized they could not all go with their sister to meet the Turtles, for that would attract too much attention. Instead they hugged her in her room, Susan wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and packing a few things Lucy had forgotten she might need (like a brush) in the pack, Edmund handing her an extra, tiny dagger that could be hidden in her sleeve, and Peter bestowing the High King's blessing.

"Aslan go with you," he said, kissing her forward. "We are safe in His paws."

"Aslan is safety," Lucy said, smiling at him.

"And Narnia is freedom," he finished, reversing the order to finish their saying. Mr. Tumnus stood waiting in the doorway with Rena, and he turned her towards them, gently pushing her. "Keep my sister safe," he bid them quietly.

"With our lives," they responded, and a few moments later they were gone.

"Swiftflight still soars the skies, glad to be home, and I asked him to watch her safely to shore," Susan said in the silence that overtook the room once Lucy left.

"'Tis well thought of," Peter responded, trying to smile. It didn't really work.

"To the hunt?" Edmund asked grimly, and Peter nodded.

"To the hunt. A Calormene went to market, by turban and accent, and the Calormenes we will watch. Leo to Ikelken, who sat with our sister, Por to Uvayeth, whom I still mistrust."

"Oreius to Lamash, for he will want a part of our hunt, my brother, and his wits are a match for the Calormene's."

"As long as he leaves the Calormene's head in place, which he will not wish to do when he hears of this." Peter thought a moment. "For the sheep-like of our guests?"

"I will find two Squirrels," Susan put in quietly. They turned to look at her and she smiled a strained smile. "For our sister," she added softly, with iron beneath.

"For our sister," her brothers repeated.

* * *

The hunt went nowhere. Oreius, once notified (and that had been unpleasant, for he would rather have sent Queen Lucy with a stronger guard, and told his Sovereigns so—respectfully), set soldiers to watching all who belonged to the Tarkaans' escort as well.

None of them did anything untoward. The remaining Three met the only in public places, and plied them with questions on the powers that had sent them, wishing to see clearly—and to have them gone soon—but they met with frustration there as well.

_Nothing new has been revealed, my sister_, Peter wrote a few days later, the quill moving smoothly in his hand as he bent over his desk. _I wish I had more to send than greetings, but Aslan has willed it so. The Mice and Birds keep watch by the passages filling the market, but see no strangers but sailors lurking there, and though their disgust grows with each unlawful trade they hear—it is only by strict instructions that the Mice are kept from challenging each villain then and there—yet there is nothing of danger. Though none of us have spoken of it to each other, we fear the danger may have followed you, though we know not how. Keep caution as your companion, and courage in your heart, my Valiant sister! I commit you to the care of Aslan._

_Your brother,  
__Peter, High King of Narnia_

He paused, then dipped the quill in ink and added a postscript.

_One more day and night till our answer must be given to the Calormenes. Glad I shall be when this finishes, for the lines on our fair sister's face grow minutely deeper each passing sunset. Her own courage stands steadfast under the strain, but I would wish it were not so. She lacks your presence to remind her of the peace trusting Aslan brings, and that, too, I would see restored. But in your absence I shall do my best. I take her out, on our Healer's advice (our brother Edmund laughed afterwards at the sight of a demure Skunk stopping the High King four times her Aslan-given height and demanding of me "to do something about the Gentle Queen's health or I'll spray the entire Cair to send her outside for a break"—laugh at me if you must, but you know even Oreius fears to cross that Skunk—and so tomorrow the two of us ride, leaving Edmund to care for our illustrious and ever-pompous guests. 'Tis sweet revenge for his laughter, to leave him behind, and so the last smile belongs to me. Or rather to you, dear Queen, since I shall have finished my laughing by the time Swiftflight brings this to you, and your laughter will have just begun.  
__Once more, for I wish it always, Aslan's care guard you._

The High King sealed the letter, slid it into a messenger's pouch, and carried it to the open window to give to the waiting Eagle. He watched the Eagle till it was out of sight, going north first, that none could follow it by foot, and then heading to Archenland. Lucy's reply would come by some other means, and it should keep her whereabouts unknown.

Peter sighed heavily, turning to go to bed. Tomorrow would have challenges enough, and sleep would help make him fit for them. Though he would have a break, and he smiled to himself. Riding with any of his siblings, away from guests, guards, responsibilities, and cares, was one of his favorite activities at Cair Paravel, and he was quite ready for the peace riding with the Gentle Queen would bring. He fell asleep smiling, unaware that his ride tomorrow would bring the very opposite of peace.

OOOOO

*From _A Turtle's Tale_

**Response to Anonymousme: I read your review in my sister's kitchen, listening to the cacophony created by my numerous nieces and nephews, and I was indeed smiling. My sense of mischief only developed in college, but after so long a repression it was **_**overdeveloped**_**, and remains so, despite the years between college and myself. And while I do try not to let it out in my writing, I don't try very hard. :) I've read most of Alara's works, and liked both **_**Grey England**_** and **_**Golden Narnia**_**. The second has been updated recently, by the way. I think anyone outside the Moonspring clan will say Belana's done well; I think those in it will either have to keep their own opinions private, or join her clan themselves. But if that happens, and most of them leave, a part of me does feel sorry for Biss, who brought about the very thing he feared by listening to nothing but that fear. What do you think will happen? And it's always fun to hear people **_**want**_** to hear the rest of the story, so thank you for that. And it's less real life than trying, gradually, to switch my current career to that of writing, eventually. I'd like to have something to out by next January, and that means quite a bit of work in the meantime; and since I still have my fulltime job, that means a lot less fanfiction, sadly. I'm glad my summaries are good (thank you for that), because they're the worst part of the story for me to write! I had to summarize **_**The Abolition of Man**_** into three pages, and you'd think summarizing the already-concise Lewis would prepare me for writing story summaries, but no, not really. **


	7. A Most Disturbing Ride

**Disclaimer: I've ridden a horse only two or three times (falling off once because the saddle was loose), missed more often than I hit the extremely large cardboard box about ten feet away from me that I was using as a target the one time I shot a bow, and I've never been threatened with bodily harm by anyone other than siblings or coworkers, and the coworkers, at least, didn't really mean it, and my siblings grew out of meaning it. Thus, all this comes from my imagination, and that can't really be owned, because everything there was built on other peoples' work.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, and grateful I am for it, indeed. You should be too, especially if you're either OCD or like good grammar.**

_**WARNING: THE RATING ON THIS STORY HAS CHANGED.**_** The villain was more unpleasant than I thought he would be (I **_**really**_** don't like him, which is unfortunate, because he's in a lot of the story), and the rating has gone up. Please be aware. **

OOOOO

The two oldest rulers left at sunrise the next morning, Susan setting straight the few questions she was asked by the servants as Peter saddled their horses. After tightening his sister's saddle himself he moved back to his own horse, a black destrier laden with saddlebags, packed with both breakfast and lunch. Susan descended the castle steps, walking towards her own brown mare. Before Peter could join her to assist her to mount, a Faun sentry stepped forward to help , blushing when the Gentle Queen thanked him graciously.

"All give way before you, my sister," Peter teased with a smile once they were out of the gate (and out of hearing).

"Not all, good consort, not all," Susan said wearily. "It was but yesterday the wretched Uvayeth ceased inquiring about our sister's whereabouts. I like not to lie, and the polite explanations of her busyness would have ceased at his next questioning, leaving nothing but unmannerly responses behind! For I would have told him flat our sister took steps to avoid the company of our guests."

"It is my thought that Ikelken took him to task on his rudeness at last," Peter responded. "Truly, though, 'twere a pity he ceased ere he asked of Edmund once more. Or better yet, of Oreius," he added, seeking to make Susan laugh, and laugh she did, her hands relaxing on the reins.

"Their company lays like a heavy penance on my spirits. Glad am I that Aslan did not let me walk into my former folly! For then the weight would be mine as long as breath lasted, in the company of such as these for my life long." She sighed again. "But I would my brothers need not pay penance with me, nor lose the company of my sister in this mess that stalks our escape."

Peter paused, drawing himself straighter on his horse, falling up and down with its slow stride. He had thought they'd laid such thoughts to rest.

"Cease, my brother," Susan added quickly, reading his body language. "I know we spoke of this. Truly, I work to remind myself the doings of the Calormenes are not the will of my hands nor solely the result of my folly. But…"

"But the weight of your spirits brings the thoughts more often to your mind," Peter finished for her. He had struggled on long campaigns and knew how weariness brought doubt quickly to mind.

"But for now I set it aside," Susan responded lightly, a determined smile on her lips. "All of Narnia lies before us; where shall we go, my brother?"

"Would you have the company of the Beavers, and be mothered and fussed over, or the thunder of the Great Falls, or the rhythm of the sea's waves, or the quiet of the tranquil forest? We ride at your command, fair Queen." Truly, Peter did not care much where they went (though the Beavers were not his first choice this particular day, as he'd rather the quiet), for the company of any of his siblings and no others was a break in any setting. And all the places he listed were close to Cair Paravel or in the safety of friends, and Oreius' scouts would no doubt pass by them often.

"The forest then, if it please you, for my heart yearns for the stillness of its drowsy woods." Peter bowed, and let his horse fall in step besides Susan's, turning at the first road towards the forest.

They spoke softly and often in jest on the way, Peter taking care to remind Susan of good memories in the past and good times yet to come as they passed dear landmarks. Edmund had said, near the beginning of the week, that she had feared to lose everything she had loved, and again the Just had spoken truth, for the more she saw of the places she loved, the more light lifted the shadows on her face and made it happier. They halted in a clearing beside the road for breakfast, Peter helping his sister dismount, but turning the instant her feet were on Narnia's ground.

"What is it, my brother?"

"My ears thought they heard a sound in my saddlebags, fair sister," he said calmly, though his hand fell to his sword. Susan had brought a bow as well, unstrung and slung over her saddle behind her, but he had not thought they would see much use. He circled his horse, yanked on the string to the saddlebag and threw it open—and found only food. He did the same to the bag on top, but again there was nothing but food. "Perhaps I heard something else. Either way, my sister, would you find the spot that pleases you best for breakfast?" He drew out cheese, apples, a knife, and balanced them on one arm, looking back in and sighing.

"What is it?" Susan called from the sunlit spot she had found just outside the trees.

"Our good cousins packed us a feast for breakfast, and I fear we shall not be able to eat it all," Peter called back.

Susan laughed, and Peter reveled in the merry sound. He withdrew the rest of the food—well, as much as a he could carry, carefully balancing the cold meat, bagged berries, apricots, bread, and other foods on his arms and in his fingers—and whirled, dropping them all when he heard Susan cry out.

A band of men—eight within sight, Peter counted without thinking, his sword already drawn—stood in the trees, clothed in plain, travel-crumpled clothing, armed with unsheathed swords, two drawn bows, and daggers at their waists.

Two were gripping Susan's arms, having pulled her to her feet, and a third had an unsheathed dagger held at her throat.

"What would you have of the Sovereigns of Narnia?" Peter inquired grimly, eyes fixed on the one holding the dagger. If the men were robbers, the siblings' saddlebags were embroidered with the image of their crowns, and Peter thought it unlikely that these men did not know who they were.

"Well, now then, it's right off to business with you, is it? I like that, I'm a business man myself," said the man holding the dagger. He had brown hair and no beard, and Peter would have thought him a merchant who sailed and worked on the ships, were it not for his glittering, ice-cold eyes and matching grin. "Now, now, I wouldn't do that," he cautioned as Peter stepped forward, and one of the archers loosed an arrow that hit near Peter's feet. "See, I make a business of getting people what they want, and recently, I found a very wealthy customer who said he wanted you. 'Well, that's a challenge aimed sideways,' I said to myself. 'Make a born fighter into something I travel with, night and day? Now how would I go about doing that,' I wondered. And then I thought of it!" His maniac grin grew wider, and Peter glanced behind the man. The two archers hadn't taken their eyes off the High King, and Peter knew he stood no chance of getting Susan safely away from them without taking too many arrows to keep back eight men. He had no choice—for the moment, he told himself, only for the moment—but to listen.

"You have your archers and the arrows pointed at me. You have made no mention of your buyer requesting the Queen," Peter pointed out, eyes going back to the glittering grey-blue ones behind his sister's head. "Let her go."

"Not yet, not yet! See, she's the whole point of my plan. Narnia, I've heard, it prides itself on following this one Being's rules, and some of those rules, well, they're all about keeping one's word, aren't they? Especially knights," he said, his voice going softer, colder, and his eyes still fixed on Peter. One hand held the back of Susan's neck, Peter could see the fingertips, and the other held the dagger to her throat, but as long as she didn't move, he payed her no attention. "And of those knights, kings must hold themselves to their word even more, wouldn't they? So I'm going to do something no other business man would think of doing. I'm going to do something they'd consider crazy!" His voice grew louder again, and for the first time his eyes left Peter and went to the woman he was holding by the throat. "If you give that kingly, knightly word, that you'll come with us and offer no trouble, and that under no circumstances will you try to escape, why then she lives, we live, and everybody gets to live. Say no," and he pushed his dagger harder into Susan's throat and drew it down an inch, and Peter's own throat tightened as red formed on hers, "and we kill her, you kill some of us—but not me, don't worry about that, I'm far too much a good hand with a sword for that—and we take you anyway, with arrows riddling your body, a sword thrust in your side, and," Susan made a choking sound as he tightened his grip, "your sister's body at your feet."

"No," Susan said, her voice cutting off as the man behind her did something Peter couldn't see.

"You speak of the Being who laid down His rules for us. Do you truly not fear Him?" Peter asked quietly. He would take this man's bargain if he had to, for he knew he could not reach his sister in time, but he would try this first. "You hold at dagger one of those He appointed Queen. You do not fear my sword, and have little reason to, if your words be not boasting. But do you not fear His anger?"

The man shrugged. "Well, now, I grew up being taught those rules, but I never saw them bring much good to those who followed them. And if the Lion isn't strong enough to bring good to folks, I don't think He's strong enough to bring hurt, either. This business of mine has gone very well, and," he said, grinning, "it's never been according to just His rules. I'm flexible like that, see? Take this meeting here. It wasn't what I planned! I'd heard of the magnificent Kings of Narnia, war-like and dangerous, but put one in Tashbaan with his sister, and see what happens? Why, he flees! Flexible, just like meself. But his sister, now, that was his weakness, and chances were it would be yours too. So I meant to get myself the littlest one, brought up by the three of you since a child, I'd heard, and probably a little spoiled, sheltered, afraid, maybe even mouse-like, they said,"

Peter's lips twitched in spite of the situation. Lucy was indeed very Mouse-like at times, like the chieftains of those warriors, but he doubted it was what the man had meant.

"And I'd heard it was easy to get her alone. But then overnight, just after I meet with my buyer, she disappears! Well, I said to myself, one Queen is as good as another, and here your Majesties are, just waiting for me and my band to give you a good welcome. Now," he said, and his eyes were fixed on Peter again, his smile suddenly gone, "will you give your sworn word? Or will my dagger taste the blood of a Queen?"

Peter looked back at Susan. Her eyes were wide with fear, pleading with him. Peter could not, at this moment, give her back all she once feared to lose, but he could give her most of it. "I pledge, as the High King of Narnia and as a knight sworn to Aslan, that after my sister be freed and let go her way without harm, I will surrender myself to you, and give no further resistance to your will by fist, boot, or sword, nor try to escape your bonds." The man smiled once more and withdrew his dagger as he shoved Susan forward. She staggered, Peter running forward to catch her with one hand, and she looked up at him.

"No." she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I will not leave."

"Susan-"

"No!" She swallowed, eyes flicking around the clearing, looking for an escape. Peter did not miss that the nocked arrows were pointed at his sister now. "Enough is laid at my door. I_ will not_ let this be too; never, never will I let your life be given for mine!"

"_Susan_." Caught, Susan looked back at him; her older brother, her leader, her family. "As your High King, I command this," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "And the authority given to me by Aslan compels you to obey. Go." She bit her lip, and he leaned forward, wrapping the arm without his sword around her. "Get Edmund," he breathed into her ear. "A fair day and little chance of rain. The Hounds," he finished quickly, setting her upright again. He turned to the band that had stepped forward, out of the trees—nine in all, he had missed one in the shadows before. "By your leave, may I help my sister mount?" he asked of the "business man," who nodded. The group started muttering and shifting, and the leader held up his hand.

"Now, now, we've the King's sworn word! And if he breaks it," the man said, smiling widely again, "well, then, his sister pays the price, doesn't she? And I don't think he wants that. No, I don't think he wants that at all. Come, don't you know your manners? Let's follow the rulers, creating their train!" he declared, still with that manic grin as he moved forward. Peter ignored them, drawing Susan's trembling arm through his own. His first concern was for her, and he silently begged Aslan to let her get away safely. He led her to her mare, laying his other hand on the arm wound through his.

"Peter, _please_," she begged under her breath, but he shook his head.

"My word is already given," he reminded her, and she bit her lip, tears beginning to fall. She blinked them away and stood straighter, eyes on her horse. Peter looped his hands together, she put her foot in it, and he stayed steady as he took her weight. She kept it there a minute, the band still a few paces behind them, voices restlessly muttering. Peter looked up, just in time to see her fingers finish something on her saddlebag as she swung herself into the saddle. A moment later she was upright, her strung bow in her hand, firing at one of the archers, who fell with a cry. She had another arrow nocked, drawing from a quiver hung on the saddle, and fired at the other archer before any of the rest of the band reached them. Peter's fingers went white around his sword; he had sworn not to fight, he couldn't _help _her-

And he couldn't resist as arms grabbed him and a dagger was brought to his throat. Not the leader's this time, for the leader was walking towards his sister, unfazed by the arrow pointed directly at his heart.

"Well, I'll be a surprised chick, Your Majesty, perhaps the Queens of Narnia aren't so timid after all! I wonder what else i've been told that's wrong. Now, now, I wouldn't shoot that. You see," he continued conspiratorially, "the rest of my band, they don't like this plan so much."

"Perhaps because it is _vile_," Susan bit out bitterly.

"Nah, nah, that's not likely. There's plenty of slaves to be had in exchange, and slaves mean gold for us. But them, well," and he gestured at the six men standing behind him, "they don't trust the word of a King. They don't reckon any man would keep his word when it means his life! So I wouldn't shoot me. And I'm right glad you didn't leave, too, because I've something to be said to you and to the ones you're going back to." He turned and walked towards Peter, Susan drawing back the bow further as the man drew near her brother. But Peter met her eyes and shook his head. He did not doubt if the man died his band would attempt to take Susan as well. Peter did not take his eyes off of his sister, trying to give her courage, as the leader stopped in front of him and grabbed one of Peter's clenched hands. The men on either side of Peter—pirates, he would guess, from the smell he'd smelled too many times before, though what pirates were doing this far inland he could not guess—clamped their hands threateningly around his arms. The leader pulled Peter's fingers out of his fist and turned it over, palm up. Peter still refused to look at him, looking only at his sister. But he caught the flash of metal from the corner of his eye, and the pain shooting up from a deep cut in his palm did not surprise him, nor make him look away.

It was harder to stay unmoving when the man reached for his other hand, drawing it up, unclenching it, and doing the same, tears falling down Susan's cheeks as she watched. Peter still shook his head, once, when the dagger was brought to his second palm and she drew back on the bow again.

This was not the time to fight.

A sob broke from her when she released it, but she did not fire, and Peter relaxed. His palms were hot with blood, and he knew it would be much harder to hold any weapon with the cuts.

"There now," the man said, turning back to Susan as he wiped his dagger on his pants. "Now I didn't want to do that, see? But a cut for each man. And next time," he stepped forward, and Peter guessed he was no longer smiling. "Next time it won't be a cut. Next time you or the others come for him, he'll lose something. Each time you come, we'll send a part of him back with you, and that won't be pleasant for anyone, see? So I'll warn you once. Tell the others you'll get him back, our buyer said so, if you do nothing—but come after us, and you'll get pieces of him first." The man bowed, a slight one, and came back up again. "You hear me, Your Majesty?" he asked, his voice soft and cold once again. Susan looked away from Peter to look at the man. Whatever she saw in his face, it closed her own, the fear and pain leaving till all that remained was the Queen Aslan appointed.

"My hearing is better than yours, for I have heard Aslan roar, and that sound will ring in your ears for what you have done," she said, reaching forward for her reins. "I'll not risk my brother and stay to fight, but know this—we will not give him up, nor will we take him in pieces. He is _ours_, given by Aslan, and we will have him back." She looked back at Peter, a promise on her face. "We _will_ get you back," she said.

"Go," Peter commanded. He knew she would keep that promise, she and the others. "Narnia is freedom-"

"Aslan is safety," she whispered, pain breaking through her mask again—but she spurred her horse forward, going forward at a gallop. Going, Peter knew, to get help.

The leader turned, studying the King. Peter looked back at him fearlessly. Whatever happened was Aslan's will, and Peter would not flinch from it. The leader shook his head.

"Not broken, that's for sure, but bound all the same. Still, I promised my men here a bit more safety than a promise, see?" The man nodded at the rouges behind Peter, and the last thing Peter felt was a hard _thunk_ on the back of his head.

Later he remembered waking, ropes binding his hands behind his back, and probably his feet together, though Peter had a hard time feeling them. He was slung like a hunter's kill over the shoulders of one of the band. His scalp itched—from dried blood, Peter had felt that one too many times—and his side ached from the shoulder digging into it.

He blinked, looking around, only to hear, "Oi! He's awake!" and feeling something hit his head once again.

The next time he woke, he was slower to open his eyes, his head, hands, and side all painful. He could feel something rough bound around his palms, below the ropes, and he kept his head lolling on his shoulder and listened.

A creaking, a familiar one, and a rhythmic sound-

"the rhythm of the sea's waves," he heard himself telling to Susan, just that morning. Sea could be a problem, they couldn't be tracked—he lifted his head up to see how far from shore, only to hear,

"Dagguer! He's waking 'gain!"

He didn't remember being hit that time.

It was dark when he woke. He didn't move; everything hurt far too much to even think of moving. He longed, suddenly, for Lucy's kind hands and Christmas gift. He remembered the smell, and was suddenly retching before he could stop himself, the idea of any smell turning his churning stomach.

"Do we knock him again?" a voice near him asked. "Too many hits to the head can hurt a brain. I've seen it happen."  
"Eh, if he's addled in the head, what of it? It'll make our buyer's task all the easier then, won't it?" Dagguer's voice, Peter knew, and kept his eyes closed. He almost welcomed the blow when it fell; oblivion didn't hurt.

OOOOO

**A/N: I know in **_**Kidnapped**_** I wrote the story from two perspectives—the hunters and the captive—but just so you're aware, I'm not writing this story that way; it will be Peter's perspective only. I had a kind reader wonder what mischief Lucy would get up to in Archenland (which, I admit, sounds like all kinds of fun, particularly since she was already friends with Aravis and I could see her teasing Aravis about Cor and, when rebuffed, asking what she thought of Corin then, just to see Aravis make a face), and it occurred to me I'd set a precedent of writing from multiple perspectives, and didn't want to disappoint people when that didn't happen here. I'm sorry if you were looking forward to that!**

**Response to Anonymousme: I grew up in a large family, with parents who also had large families, and my siblings now have large families. When I roomed for over three years at college with an only child, we had a few ****communication things we had to make clear. :) I'd rather not post my career publicly, if you don't mind; it's varied enough over the years it's pretty specific. Large families aren't, so I don't mind saying, as long as it's not a specific number. What would, in the end, charm Biss? The way he's portrayed reminds me of the "dwarf" (short man) in Lewis' The Great Divorce; someone who refuses to be happy unless every need is met, every fear assuaged, and all attention is given to him. The only way for him to be happy is to give up his selfishness, and what, in the end, could charm that out of him? Have a lovely Tuesday!**


	8. Captive and King

**Disclaimer: Misery and hope are mine to experience but not to own. The same applies to Narnia.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, who in addition to catching my mistakes is willing to debate interesting subjects – like whether or not Peter's promise, made under duress, is binding. **

OOOOO

Peter woke. He kept his eyes closed, wary this time. His hands still throbbed, his head ached, and from the feel of things, his wrists were bound behind him. He was lying on his side on dirt and stone, his elbow pressing uncomfortably into his rib cage. Around him was quiet. An absolute, muffling quiet. There were no creaking trees, no rustling leaves, no sighing wind, no sounds of water, not even footsteps. There was no sound at all.

And while his headache might approve, Peter's common sense told him the silence was not a good sign. Cautiously he opened his eyes.

It was dark as well as quiet, though there was a torch somewhere behind him, casting flickering light on the curving stone a hand's breadth from his nose. He was in a tiny cave—sort of. He blinked, pushing his head closer to the stone. There were gouges from picks, dents from shovels—the alcove he was in had been dug out. As quietly as he could, he put his hands to the ground behind him to push himself over—and bit his lip in pain. Not a good idea to use his hands, then; he twisted himself as quietly as he could, till his back was to the wall and he could look the other way.

The alcove he was in could hold perhaps six men lying down and was dug a little shorter than Peter's height. Metal bars ran from the cave roof to the dirt below, chained on both sides to the rock at the top and bottom of the bars. A barred metal door hung in the middle, and Peter didn't doubt it was locked. Beyond the bars was a much larger cave, a hallway into which half of the Cair's Great Hall could fit, and along the other side Peter could see two more barred alcoves. Three torches lit the entire place, one on the wall just outside Peter's prison.

Peter took a breath. The first sensible thing to do, he knew, would be to try the door. Painfully, resting his shoulder against the wall to maintain his balance, he pushed himself up, willing his vision to stop shifting. His head was most unhappy, and since it was his brain arguing with his head about what to do, the battle was taking place at very close quarters and his nerves didn't like it.

But he'd done this before, and he waited, as patiently as he could, till his head stopped protesting and he could see again. He stood straight, foregoing the wall, and waited till he was sure his footsteps would be steady (and hopefully stealthy), and moved towards the bars. The first step made him blink in surprise; he looked down and realized his boots, belt, cloak, and vest were missing. _That will make anything that needs doing much more inconvenient_, he heard Edmund snipe in his head, and he almost smiled in response, taking another step.

_Inconvenient does not mean impossible, my brother_.

_Your oath does_, the Just's voice reminded him. _Or had you forgotten that?_

_Nonsense. If I am unable to escape, the only alternative is to conquer that which holds me, by some other means than force. _Peter's thoughts paused; normally this would be when he asked if his brother were with him, already knowing the answer. But in this case, his brother was most decidedly not with him. And he'd reached the bars anyway.

There was one more cell beside his, the torch between them. The cave was empty; there were no sentries, only him and the bars.

Unable to test the metal with his fingers, he leaned his shoulder against them gradually, pushing with more and more force. The links of the chains pushed out the breadth of a finger, but had no more give than that. Peter turned around, pulling his elbows up and trying to reach the lock on the barred door with his tied hands, but he could not reach.

He did not give up, knowing sometimes persistence conquers the hardiest of obstacles. But after his wrists began bleeding and his elbows were aching, he acknowledged that he was getting nowhere. He went back to the wall, sliding down it and leaning his head back gently.

_The cages_, he thought to himself. He lifted his head again to look at them. There were enough of them to hold perhaps 25 souls. His captor was a practiced slaver, that much he could see. Only Peter was to be exchanged for slaves, and if Peter remembered correctly, the man expected gold for those slaves, which meant he already had a buyer for the slaves too. The man had gone from slaving to kidnapping the High King; what would have tempted him to do that?

And how did Peter stop it? For Peter guessed, with a wry twist in his thoughts, that Aslan had permitted such a thing to happen that Peter might once again fight those who did evil. Even if they were no longer in Narnia, a thought that took away most of Peter's humor.

But how was he to stop it?

They would have to feed him. Eventually, Peter thought, suddenly aware of the hunger rumbling his stomach. And if he could not resist, he could gain information.

And once the trade took place and he was given to whomever this buyer was, Peter's oath was no longer binding. Peter grinned alarmingly at the thought, then stiffened.

He heard something.

Not, he thought, straining his ears, human footsteps. It was a soft, pattering sound, familiar but unrecognizable, and suddenly a soft _thump_.

He _knew_ that sound.

Where had he heard it, if he could not recognize what it was?

Cair Paravel; he'd heard it there; he'd been staring down a hallway. The pattering grew louder, a _scritch, scritch_ added to it, like tiny claws-

Like a Squirrel running on stone, Peter realized, getting quickly to his feet. He closed his eyes at the dizzying spell, fighting for control, and heard the noise stop.

"High King Peter?" squeaked a tiny voice, echoing in the large hall outside. "High King Peter, are you here? Please be here, please be here, I didn't mean to lose you, and I'm los-"

"Patterfeet?" Peter called softly, not wanting to alert anyone nearby. "Good cousin, is that you?" Peter heard a gasp, and then running feet. Peter made his way to the bars, stepping into the torchlight, and saw the large Squirrel scurrying down the walls, jumping over the cell next to his, squeezing himself through the bars, and then leaping up, straight onto Peter's chest.

Peter lost his balance, falling backwards, unable to catch himself on his bound and hurting hands. He hit with a thump that made him groan, but he quickly set the pain aside at the motions of the Squirrel on his chest.

Patterfeet was shaking, claws dug into Peter's shirt, black eyes staring, and sides heaving with his gasps. Peter pulled himself up, folded his legs to make a warm place to cradle the Narnian and bent closer to the frightened Squirrel.

"Hush," Peter soothed, looking him over. Patterfeet's fur was clumped in places, bristling, and smelled of salt water. "Hush, good cousin, hush. Breathe." Patterfeet shut his eyes, though his teeth were still chattering, clacking together loudly. "Better," Peter said quietly, when the Squirrel stopped shaking, and his breathing evened out. "Do not mistake me, your presence does me good, but what quest led you here?"

Patterfeet let go of Peter's shirt, stepping onto his legs so he could sit up and look Peter in the eyes. "Oreius made me watch you, Your Majesty, sir, so I hid in your saddlebags, since I didn't know if I could keep up with your horse, sir, and I couldn't, and then when you stopped I jumped out to go get breakfast and you almost heard me and I didn't want you to, because you said this was for Kings and Queens only, but Oreius had told me to follow you, so I tried to do both, and I went to go get breakfast, and I didn't go far, I didn't, but then bad things happened and I heard them and came back, and I was ready to fight them, sir, because they were mean to Queen Susan, but I jumped for another limb so I could help fight by dropping on their heads, but I was scared and got it wrong, and fell, and hit my head, and when I woke up Queen Susan was gone, and is she ok, King Peter?"

"My sister is well, praise Aslan," Peter responded, trying to calm the Squirrel once again. "Quietly, cousin, that none may hear—but how did you get from ground to here?"

"Well, you weren't fighting, sir, and Oreius said to do what you did, so when they knocked you on the head and carried you away, I followed, sir, as fast as I could, and humans are slow, so I kept up. And when they left the trees for the boat, I ran along the shore and grabbed the outside of the boat. I held on tightly, very tightly, and got wet, and I don't like the sea, sir, can we never go there again? And they went from the boat to a bigger boat, and hit you, and I almost fought them then, but I fell off into the water because my paws were cold, and then they said they would keep you asleep for a long time, so I fell asleep too, and found you, and you didn't wake up and didn't wake up and didn't wake up, and then it was night again, so I slept too, sir, because I was scared," and Patterfeet looked down, avoiding Peter's eyes, "and when I woke up they were near a cliff, and we went into the mountains, but I had to follow farther away, sir, because if they saw me I couldn't help you, and when they went inside a cave they went different ways, and I've been looking for you _forever_, sir." One paw rubbed against another nervously. "I'm sorry, King Peter. I didn't mean to make you fall down, sir, I'm really, really sorry."

"Hush, good cousin, all is forgiven," Peter said, leaning forward to touch Patterfeet's bent head gently with his own. "Be of good courage, as of the like you have already shown. And your report was well, also, brave soldier," he added, when Patterfeet looked up with shining eyes. "Clear and chronological, which is well for Our understanding. Now, good cousin, take but a moment to breathe." He watched as Patterfeet calmed under the praise, better able to do more since what he had already done was well received.

"What can I do, King Peter?" Patterfeet asked a few moments later.

"My hands, good cousin," Peter said, holding quite still when Patterfeet leaped onto his shoulder, then down a moment later. "Do not bite the ropes!" he added quickly as he felt the Squirrel's teeth. "If you but untie them, we may convince them I did so by my own skill, and your presence stay secret." He breathed a soft sigh of relief, inaudible but keenly felt, a few minutes later when the ropes gave way under the tugging of Patterfeet's paws. "Well done," he praised, bringing his arms around and twisting his wrists to stretch them, though that tugged at the congealing blood. He brought his hands up and examined them; the cuts were filled with dirt and already scabbing.

"Oreius says cuts should be cleaned," a hesitant voice said near his knee, and Peter found Patterfeet's eyes fixed on the cuts and the rawness of his wrists.

"But we've no water, and must do without," Peter responded wryly.

"I can get water."

Peter hesitated. "Without being seen by enemy or slave?" Patterfeet nodded, eyes carrying back up to Peter's. "If you can do so with care, water would be welcome."

"There's a bucket in the next cave, sir, with cups by it. I'll be back in a moment!" Patterfeet ran through the bars, jumped on the wall (Peter heard him), and very soon his soft footfalls faded. Peter took the time to stretch his arms, wrists, and fingers, wrap up the rope and tie it around his waist (rope is often useful, he heard Oreius repeating), and test the bars. They did not budge, but just having his arms free made him feel more capable. Before long he heard Patterfeet, his steps slightly heavier, and soon the Squirrel came in view holding a cup almost large enough for a regular squirrel to dunk itself in, clasped in both paws and held to his chest. The cup did not fit through the bars, despite the Squirrel's energetic pushing, so at Peter's direction he set it just outside, and Peter stuck his hand through the bars and into the water. He tried using his other hand to clean the cut, but his fingers pushed much of the water out of the cup. He sighed silently—not so Patterfeet could see—and tried again.

"Please may I help?" the Squirrel asked timidly, and Peter smiled gladly.

"If you would, good cousin, I would be most grateful for assistance." The King put his hand back in the water, and soon felt the gentle touch of tiny Squirrel paws splashing the water directly onto the cut, then cleaning it out. Peter was careful not to wince when Patterfeet cleaned the deeper parts, and when it started bleeding again. The Squirrel's focus was entirely on the cut, and he missed whatever shadow of pain passed over the King's face until both cuts were clean.

"Would you like some water to drink now, sir?"

"Water would be most welcome, and drink yourself, Patterfeet, if you are thirsty. Take your time at the bucket, though splash not outside of it! For now, with none in sight, it is good to strengthen ourselves, and rest while we may." The Squirrel nodded wisely, and Peter kept his smile inside. As the Squirrel tugged the cup back into his paws and hoisted it, Peter scuffed dirt over the wet spot that remained with his foot, pushing the dust through the bars and onto the darkened dirt. When he finished he went back to the wall and sat, smiling. It was good to have someone near to protect and to lead, he thought. Someone to keep from harm. And someone to help him.

Peter spent several minutes praying to Aslan, resting against the wall with his eyes closed. After he planned strategy. If he could not get out, he could send Patterfeet—carefully, he would have to train the Squirrel first—to investigate.

Speaking of which, he thought he could hear the Squirrel's heavier tread again, a welcome sound in so much silence. He opened his eyes and looked out; Patterfeet was lugging the cup down the hall, and Peter smiled to see the Squirrel had not only drunk, but taken some water and washed the salt out of his fur, putting it in place as well.

"'Twas well done," Peter said gravely, reaching a hand through to cup some water and bring it to his lips. "Cair Paravel would take pride in you."

"And you, sir?" Patterfeet asked shyly, shuffling from one paw to another.

"I am pleased to see you better, good cousin, and proud to have your help," Peter reiterated kindly. "I have enough, have you?" Patterfeet nodded, and without being asked took the cup back to its resting place. When he came back Peter extended his hand and the Squirrel jumped onto his arm, running up to his shoulder. Once he was settled, a hand in Peter's hair and his tail extended behind him for balance, Peter surveyed the alcove. "We must find a place for you to hide," he explained, running his fingertips along some of the gouges. "If they come, with food or with unpleasant intent, you are not to be seen. Those are _your_ orders. Do you understand?" he asked, pausing his movements to make sure Patterfeet understood.

"Yes, sir," Patterfeet said after a pause.

"You do not have to like what you must do, but you must obey. For our enemies not to know of you only strengthens us; for them to know of you weakens us, for one may be used to break the other unto obedience. This, perhaps?" he asked, fingering a deeper gouge. "No, 'tis no use, for the light reaches it."

"Further up, sir?" Patterfeet extended his paws, gripping the wall, and ran up the curve to nearly the top. "Few look up, and it's dark farther in," he added, pushing himself into a narrow gouge someone had scored on the very top.

"Canst hold yourself there long, good cousin? For very long, perhaps?" Peter asked, his neck craned to look directly up.

"Perhaps, if I-" and Patterfeet stopped talking to scrabbled with his claws, and Peter blinked and covered his head as dirt showered down. "Some of it was soft!" Patterfeet exclaimed excitedly. "No one can see me here," he added proudly, and Peter cautiously looked up to see that it was so; the Squirrel had disappeared into one side of the gouge, where he'd tunneled out his own hiding place.

"Well done," Peter said, smiling, and reaching to brush the dust out of his hair. A small body flew past him a few moments later, and a _thump_ echoed in the alcove. Peter discovered Patterfeet sprawled on the ground.

"I don't know how to get down yet, sir," Patterfeet panted, and Peter hurriedly scooped him up, cradling him in his palms.

"We'll work on your landing, good cousin. But not now," he added as Patterfeet attempted to pick himself up.

"Then what now?" Patterfeet inquired, sinking back down as his black eyes fixed on Peter's face.

"Now we learn what we can, as soldiers should," Peter responded, grabbing on to the idea. "How many men have you seen in your journey thus far?"

They spoke for perhaps an hour, first of the men, then weapons, and then Peter drew a map on the floor of all the places Patterfeet could remember going, pulling from his own memory of how Oreius had trained the Kings to do the same. The network of caves had been dug throughout the entirety of a single mountain somewhere on Narnia's northern border, Peter guessed from Patterfeet's description, and he turned grimmer at that.

Edmund and Susan both would have pointed out it was far too coincidental not to have something to do with the missing Narnians. Peter only hoped he could find them, and send them, at least, home again.

Edmund and Lucy both repeatedly told him they inherited their gifts of making trouble for their captors from Peter himself, and Peter fully resolved to prove it true.

He kept Patterfeet busy at the same time, the Squirrel soon leaping from one side of the map to the other, drawing the passages with his own tiny fingers, and adding all the details he could remember. Peter reminded him twice that now was not the time for more exploring as the Squirrel's excitement grew; it would come at nightfall, when most of their captors would (Aslan willing) be sleeping. And according to the Squirrel, it had been the early hours of the morning when Peter had been found.

Hours passed, and their captors did not bring Peter any food. Twice Patterfeet went back for water, bringing it to his King and drinking himself. Peter drilled Patterfeet on scurrying to his hiding place at the first sound, and landing, and, at the Squirrel's eager begging, on the best ways for Squirrels to incapacitate Sons of Adam. But as the hours wore on and both Narnians grew hungrier, Peter commanded them to save their strength and nap. He rested in the shadows, leaning against the back wall, setting Patterfeet gently on his shoulder, the Squirrel's tail wrapped around him and his nose pressing gently into the King's neck. When both woke, Peter stretched cautiously, then looked down at the Squirrel whose whiskers were quivering in eagerness.

"Is it time, sir?"

"Time for stealth, yes, good cousin. Go forth to the outside first, unseen, and find if there be any Narnians or Narnian land near, that we may send word to my consorts of this place of captivity. If there be none, come back to me, and we plan our next move. Watch as you move through the tunnels, and remember the map, and that Aslan gifted your kind in many ways to allow you to pass unseen." Peter stood, walking forward to place Patterfeet on the wall near the bars. "I will spend my time testing the bars, and seeing if I can find a way to meet you halfway. Go, and Aslan go with you." With a quick grasp of its clever paws on Peter's hand, Patterfeet was gone, leaving the High King alone.

Peter untied the rope around his waist, carefully flinging it over the chains at the top of the bars. Testing it, the rope hung strong, and Peter wrapped an end around either hand and pulled, first with all his strength, then with his weight added. The chains did not budge, and Peter unwrapped the rope with a grimace, for the pulling had not done the cuts on his palms any favors. He tested the bars again, with rope and with his hands, but could only move them the scant finger-length the chains allowed. His palms no longer bleeding, he turned to the edges of the cell, to see if any of them were soft enough he could follow the Squirrel's example and dig himself out, but none of the fissures in the rock were large enough for his hand, let alone for his body.

_Do not give up_, he reminded himself (Lucy's tone chiming in the words). _No way out right __now__ does not mean there is no way out_.

He went back to the middle of his alcove and brushed himself off as best he could, looking around to see if there were any options he might have missed.

There weren't. He was, he realised, thus left with an inexperienced young page to rescue him, and Peter smiled to himself. Aslan had used weaker, less experienced means before; Peter himself had been no kingly figure when he took his first awe-struck steps in Narnia.

Speaking of steps - footsteps were approaching in the distance. Quickly, Peter tied the rope in two loose circles, slipping one over his left wrist, putting his hands behind his back, and twisting to get the other loop around his right wrist, moving back towards the wall at the same time. He lay down on his side, facing the wall, mimicking his position from before waking as best as his memory could supply.

For these were heavy footsteps, a pair of them almost in sync, belonging to the Sons of Adam and not to Squirrels, coming closer and stopping at the bars to his cell.

"Oi, you 'wake yet?" a rough voice called. Peter didn't move.

_You make a lovely possum, High King of Narnia,_ he heard Edmund say in his head, and he sternly told his brother's voice to be quiet.

"Is he supposed to be out for this long? Them 'erbs never worked 'alf so long as this before," a second voice whined worriedly.

"We 'adn't 'it the others on the 'ead three tu four times before, either," the rough voice said. "We might 'ave cracked it." Peter resolutely kept his muscles still as he heard bars clanking. _Do not resist, do not resist,_ he reminded himself as he heard the door scraping against the floor. _Possum-playing, indeed, my brother._

"I don't get why we're feeding 'im," the second voice complained, closer than before. "It's not like the others, 'e don't need to be fat."

"We're feeding 'im because _I_ don't feel like arguing with Dagguer. 'E ain't native to Narnia, but 'e'll change it all the same, making a nice golden profit, and I ain't standing in _'is_ way. You want to?"

"No, not me! I saw the last un who argued with 'im, and I ain't ending up like that. There," and Peter heard something hit the ground, "that's done, and now let's leave, afor 'is 'igh and mighty majesty wakes up, oath or no oath. I ain't being a part of no cage match." Peter heard the door scrape closed again and footsteps walking back down the hall.

"Dagguer's right, though. This 'as been easy, and a pile of gold to be made from it, after the second part. What you gonna do with your share?" Peter heard their retreating voices say, the whining voice beginning to say something about land in Galma before the door at the end of the hall swung shut and cut it off.

Peter rolled over. A metal bowl with a thin gruel was placed just inside the door, and Peter sighed, slipping off the rope and going to pick it up. They hadn't provided a spoon, so Peter, with a grimace for the taste, lifted the bowl to his lips and drank. It wasn't quite as appealing as it would have been if he hadn't had any water, but it was something he forced himself to drink, knowing he needed it. He left some in the bottom for Patterfeet, setting the bowl to one side in the shadows. They would know he was awake next time he came, but eating was more important than stealth.

He waited perhaps another hour before he heard the soft _scritch, scritch_ of tiny claws on stone and walked to the bars. Patterfeet was not running, and Peter could tell from his drooping tail that the Squirrel had found little or nothing. He put his hand through the bars at the Squirrel's level, allowing Patterfeet to jump onto it before bringing the Narnian back into the cell.

"Eat first," Peter commanded softly, sitting down next to the bowl and extending the arm with the Squirrel to the ground. "We will speak after." He watched the Squirrel eat, thanking Susan inside that she had taught him about Squirrel-sized portions as Patterfeet ate eagerly at first, then more slowly, finishing the rest but appearing satisfied. Perhaps Squirrels had less discerning taste pallets when it came to liquids, Peter thought wryly.

Finished, Patterfeet went first to their hand-drawn map, squinting at it and then adding a few lines. "Here, sir, and here, and here, are places they don't use much. But I don't think walking around at night is a good idea, sir," the Squirrel added earnestly. "I think most of them are part Owl, because many of them were sleeping and started waking up only when the sun went down."

"Darkness often hides evil deeds," Peter quoted, a grim smile on his lips. "They may indeed like the darkness better. We will work in the hours of the day, then, when the sun lights the dark. What else found you outside the caves?"

"I'm sorry, so very sorry, sir, but there's no one around but giants, sir, to the southeast, and the sea to the west, and I didn't even see birds, sir, there's no one."

"Peace, Patterfeet, who lives here - or does not - is no fault of yours. You checked for them thoroughly?" The Squirrel nodded rapidly. "Then have even greater care as you go about, for if none live here but rouges and giants, a Squirrel will be an immediate enemy." He sat next to the map as well. "Have you found else of interest?"

"I counted the men, sir, all that I could find, and there's one paw four times*, sir, and the man who kept telling them to hit you, and two people with him that are dressed in that funny way of the Calormenes, sir."

"There's Calormenes here?" Peter repeated sharply, and Patterfeet nodded again. "I had thought Rabadash gave up all claim to my sister - and the plan meant evil for Lucy, not Susan, and that to make me tractable, they said. But what would Calormen want with me?" Peter mused out loud. "A buyer - the Tisroc buying the High King of Narnia, and sending him back, if the word of Dagguer is to be believed? The treaty a way into our lands, to set up the attempt?" He closed his eyes in frustration. "I would my siblings stood here to help me reason this." He opened his eyes to see Patterfeet staring at him expectantly. "As they are, praise Aslan, quite far from here, we must do what we can on our own. I saw not how the door in the bars is to be opened, but where there is a lock, there is a key."

"I know where the key is, sir!" Patterfeet's tail had bushed up, and he was nearly bouncing on his feet, his words rushing out. "I can get it sir, easily sir, it's not far, sir, just hanging on a wall outside, keys for all the cells, sir, all of them, but I didn't bring it before because we were being quiet, and keys are never quiet, I tried to take some before at Cair Paravel and fell when they made a bunch of noise because I was surprised, sir, but I can get these, sir, I can!"

"Can you get them here _quietly_?" Peter asked, eyes fixed on the Squirrel. It was not a risk he could afford _not_ to take, but nor was it a safe one.

"I can try, sir! And I can try hard, sir, that's how I got to be a page, sir, and why Oreius noticed me, and why I found you, sir, because I don't always do it right right away, but I try very hard, and I really want to do this, sir, because I don't like it when you're in a cage, and I don't like leaving you behind, and you can teach me so much more if you come with me outside the cell, sir, and I can try to be really, really quiet. Truly, sir, I-"

"Peace, Patterfeet, or will convince me you cannot be quiet at all," Peter reproved gently, letting amusement show to steady the Squirrel. "Go first to the adjacent halls, and if there be any in them, leave the keys for now. But if the halls be empty, and you see the keys and can take them with none hearing, bring them swiftly. There is much more I would know of our hosts, and truly, I would also welcome freedom from this cell." He knelt, bending to put himself at the Squirrel's level. "But do not be seen. There is your first task, for my only freedom is bound to your freedom, and to lose you would be to lose all freedom I have. If you care to see me free, then do not lose your own. Will you promise me to take no risk? For the keys wait, hanging on a wall, and we may wait to seize till a good moment. Will you wait, Patterfeet, if the risk is high, and risk not my only freedom?"

The Squirrel looked at him, stilling to give the High King his whole attention. "I swear," he responded solemnly, and Peter smiled.

"Then I take your oath, and keep you to it. Go, Patterfeet, and see if without risk you may gain the means to free us both." With a swift bow and a bound, the Squirrel hurled himself through the cell bars and down the hall.

OOOOO

*Squirrels have five digits on their paws, just like we do, if you were wondering. I looked at pictures just to make sure, and they're kind of cool.

**Response to Guest: I'm so glad you loved it! I should be updating every Tuesday, and the as the story is at least half-way through, hopefully it will only be a couple months before it's finished!**

**Response to ****Anonymousme: I'm sorry, but this story is going to be strictly from Peter's perspective. I usually set myself one to three challenges per story, and try not to add more to that-I did that with "A Turtle's Tale" and it got too large, and lost a lot of the enchantment. The challenges for this story were courtly language and Calormen-speak, Peter's perspective (which is a challenge for me), and weaving two threads into one. To add any other perspectives to that would add more threads, and I've not enough skill to keep them from escaping. But remind me, after I finish this story, and I'll try a few one-shots of letters? I've always wanted to set something up, actually, with a few other Narnian authors, where each of us take one sibling, and write letters back and forth, posting them as continuing chapters. But I've this and the Tumnus story to finish before I begin a project that large! Because of that restriction to Peter's perspective, we actually won't know the majority of what his siblings do until they rejoin the story. But yes, I imagine they would have every winged Narnian scouring the skies! Hopefully this was enough proof that Peter isn't just lying down waiting for rescue? :) The Great Divorce is a series of interactions a ghost has with other ghosts, when they're given a glimpse of a land on the way to heaven. It's as revealing about human nature as the most pointed of Lewis's works, it includes interactions with George MacDonald, and there was one vacation where I read the entirety of it every morning, several days in a row-it's a short, easy read, and a very good one. I've read almost everything he's written, actually-and there are books I like better and books I have to be a mood for, but there are many, many ones I love. Do you think you'll try to read them?**


	9. Prisoner of a Prince's Plan

**Disclaimer: Look at all the things in this story I don't own. The English alphabet, for one. The words used to tell the tale. The characters. This particular world. The names. I own the profile that posted the story and that's about it. Side note, this is not my favorite chapter (A/N below), so sorry.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, which is great, 'cause I wrote it in the car after very little sleep (but don't worry, I obviously wasn't driving), and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want the result of such endeavors. **

OOOOO

Peter turned back towards the bars a moment later. He could hear Patterfeet's paws coming back at twice the speed they'd been sent out, and there had not been enough time for him to get to the end of the hall and gain the keys.

"Cousin?" he called in a low tone, standing by the bars and looking for the Squirrel.

"They're coming!" Patterfeet gasped, and Peter thrust his arm through the bars, drawing it back inside the instant he felt the Squirrel's weight. The King moved beneath the crevice, holding up his arm, watching as the Squirrel leaped up and disappeared. Peter pulled the rope from around his waist, tied it in lose loops, and held the rope behind his back, keeping his movements calm and easy even as he heard footsteps approaching. Closer, closer, as one hand slipped through the knotted circle, and the voices—Dagguer's and a foreign one, or several—grew louder. The other wrist slipped through, and Peter backed himself against the wall, though he didn't sit. They would know he was awake; he needn't be more vulnerable.

"And here, you see, we succeeded."

"I wanted them both," a petulant voice responded, and Peter stiffened. He had heard that voice recently.

"That was not what you paid us for, you overpri-"

"As my compatriot somewhat inaccurately states, you offered fifteen well-fed, well-cared for slaves in exchange for the Narnian High King." Dagguer stopped in front of the bars. "And that is what we have delivered, see? Right here, see for yourself." He stepped aside, his three men moving aside as he did, and Peter glared at the Calormene behind them.

Uvayeth sneered as he stepped closer; but he addressed Dagguer, ignoring the High King. "I would have paid twice for the two, barbarians though they be! You had _half_ of Narnia's rulers in your hands, and you let one go!"

"I do not alter terms of a bargain after it's been made." Dagguer's tone grew icier. "If you want another King or Queen, I have ideas, see? But it will be a bargain, sealed and written, with no change once the blood stains the scroll. That's the way to do business. That's right, that is."

"You will not lay hand or claw on any more of Narnia's rulers," Peter interrupted, pushing off the wall to approach the bars. "Already the punishment of Aslan will be visited on your heads."

Dagguer bowed. "Allow me to present your buyer, King Peter of Narnia. This is Uvayeth, nephew of Calormen's Tisroc, and the buyer who pays so dearly for your arrangements." His eyes flicked from one to the other, watching intently.

"We are aware, idiot of a trader! We have met in the courts of kings; we have no need of _your_ pretend airs, son of merchants. Now leave, that those of high standing and much wisdom may discuss what is beyond the comprehension of those who bargain with lives instead of rule them."

Dagguer's eyes were cold, and his grin changed to his manic one, but he bowed and withdrew, leaving Uvayeth on one side of the bars and Peter on the other.

"Now I have you, once High King of Narnia," Uvayeth breathed, watching Peter hungrily. "Much harm did you do, unwitting fool! For the treaty was sent by my hand, that Calormen and Narnia would seem to be pleasant accord, and no call for enmity; but that treaty you and yours refused, thrice-accursed barbarians! The treaty set by the will of the dying Tisroc (may he live forever) himself, the last chance for the rising of my glory before his timorous son begins to reign. I would have done by a paper and a band of thieves what Rabadash could not do with two hundred mounted warriors. But it availed you nothing, for look, barbarian—you are in my hand, and when we leave, Peter of Narnia, we go to the dungeons of Tash, and I give you to the priests to be broken."

"Of what use is a broken king to you?" Peter asked calmly. His fingers held the loose rope, ready, if Uvayeth entered, to rip it off and take the Calormene captive_. But slow, good brother, slow_, he heard his siblings tell him. _There are few better times to learn of enemies than when they believe you in their power. _

Uvayeth sneered again. "King by birth; _oldest_ king. Your siblings love you; however broken you might be, they would take you back in the whisper of false lover's words. But broken, you will be ours, trembling before the commands of your enlightened betters. Through you Narnia will be ours as well. Love makes the weakest of rulers, as the poets say. Oh, we know you will take time to break," he added, scorning the defiance of the High King. "But our priests are taught by the god Tash himself, and no mortal stands before his power. And broken, you will be our spy. I have plans," Uvayeth finished, eyes glistening with the greed Peter had tried to discover. "The treaty could be light, what of it? For once we ruled Narnia, its goods will be ours, to be fashioned to our needs, in the style only the great the nation of Calormen can reach!"

"Ours?" Peter asked goadingly. "I see only one man with delusions of ruling a country through a King yet unbroken. The Land of the Lion will never be yours."

Uvayeth studied him a moment. "No," be breathed, his eyes glistening. "No, I do not think it will. Igteroth seeks to rule this paltry land in Tisroc's name (may he live forever), but I aspire more. I was born of the next eldest son; I am of the line of _Tash_." He paused.

"And Rabadash is a fool," Peter said, fishing.

"A weak and trembling rabbit of a man who allowed himself to become a _donkey_," Uvayeth snarled, beginning to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, just beyond the bars of Peter's cell. "The Tisroc (may he live forever) must see it. Is Rabadash not proof that love weakens kings, as all the poets speak? His defeat runs through all the nations of the spreading world, chasing after a woman till he became an ass. But I, _I_, I am more. I fell the thunderbolts running in my heart. I will deliver them! The bolt of Tash will strike, it has struck, and when the Tisroc (may he live forever) sees Narnia brought to its knees, he will name me, and not my cowardly cousin, the heir to his throne. But the Gentle Queen! They had in her their grasp! For my cousin speaks not of her even in poetry, but if he saw her again, just once, and Narnia was ours, would he not take his place as ruler here, if his father delineated the throne of Calormen to me? I could have bought my cousin's acquiesce with the price of her hand, a paltry price to pay, just fifteen slaves!"

"He will _never_ have her," Peter broke in. His fingers clenched around the rope. "That prince will never see her again, nor will the paltry possession he desired ever be given to him." Uvayeth laughed.

"And what will you do against the might of Calormen, King in a cell?" He drew nearer the bars, smirking at Peter. "Rest while you can. We leave for the sea in before the moon rises, and there will be none who can save you from the hand of Tash then! Igteroth!" he called down the hall, and Peter's hands clenched again at this proof another of their five guests planned ill for Narnia. He heard the door at the end of the hall open, and Uvayeth commanded, "Tell them to ready the captive to leave, O fellow companion in this venture."

"That is not possible," an implacable voice interjected politely. Dagguer's voice, Peter realized. "For we do not surrender the prisoner, see, till payment is made. All's good and fair then, right? And payment hasn't arrived yet, so the prisoner stays in the cell, see?"

Uvayeth frowned darkly down the hall. "You dare to question the word of a Tarkaan? Know this, I have slaves in the hundreds at my estates, and wealth uncountable will be mine. Your paltry payment means nothing to me; but the King is mine."

"He is ours, till payment arrives. Now, now, I wouldn't go getting upset," Dagguer remonstrated softly, coming into Peter's view. "You've only five here, see? And I've a band. We've taken him, and we'll keep him, till we're paid; that's how the world works, ain't it? I could hardly tell my men we let off the King without being paid. So how's this: you and your band sleep, and stay, and why, once we've our payment, we send the King with you, and a smile for each of you, pleasure doing business and all. But if the slaves don't come, why then," he paused, smile feral and eyes glittering, "you and your men, and the King himself, they can take the place of the slaves, don't you see? And just in time, too. The feast is coming."

Uvayeth went to draw the scimitar at his waist, but Dagguer had a blade at the Calormene's throat almost instantaneously. "You can sleep beside the King in this hall, or in our quarters as guests, your choice," he threatened.

"You _dare_," Uvayeth raged, shaking with anger.

"I dared take a King," Dagguer reminded him. "I dare anything I think will be to my profit, see? Kings, Tarkaans, or common, it makes not a spot of rust's difference to me. Now what will it be, captive or guest?"

"Guest," said a trembling voice behind them. Igteroth's, Peter realized. His eyes were on the drama before him, watching, wondering if he should push them further against each other—but he knew of Uvayeth's plans, and had not sworn any oath to submit to him. He did not yet know why Dagguer wanted slaves, and he did not think he would enjoy finding out. Igteroth spoke again. "My lord Uvayeth, though valor is spoken of highly by the poets, discretion is also held to shine as the stars of the heavens. Their knives are at our throats; surely even the Tisroc himself (may he live forever) would see the wisdom in agreeing to wait till payment arrives."

Uvayeth glared at Dagguer, though he spoke to his cohort. "You words remind me of the sickening constraints of Ikelken's speech, Igteroth. But even fools may speak wisdom sent from the gods, as the poets say. I choose guest, Dagguer. For now," he added in a quieter tone, letting go of the scimitar's handle. Dagguer smiled and withdrew his own blade.

"Then let me show you where you'll be staying. Nice and quiet-like, I promise—only the best for our guests. Right this way, gentlemen. Oriet, take your dagger from the gentleman's neck! They're our guests, they are, and the ones who told me all about the Narnian sovereigns, too—though they got a bit wrong. The Queens have some fight in them after all, I found. Shall I tell you about that? See…" and Dagguer's voice faded out as the door closed. Peter leaned against the bars, listening. He listened till the footsteps faded away and not a sound could be heard.

"Patterfeet!" he called softly, and heard the Squirrel scrambling down the walls behind him, then running to his feet. "Good cousin, our work must begin soon," he explained softly. "Go to the hall, watching for any guard, and get the keys. I would listen to more of our enemies speaking together, if Aslan wills. But ware; for if we cannot discover more, I must send you away at once. My siblings must know of Uvayeth's plans."

"Yes, sir, going now, sir!" and the Squirrel once more ran down the hall. Peter slipped his hands from the loops and asked for Aslan's blessing on the rest of the night. He had a feeling the challenges were just beginning.

OOOOO

**A/N: I'm sorry this is so short. It's been a rough week and a half, and the new week beginning isn't that much easier. It killed my motivation for writing; but maybe tomorrow's writing meeting will help bring it back!**

**Response to Anonymousme: the Tumnus story is pre-LWW, and it will (hopefully) chronicle the story of his temptation, his fall, and perhaps his first meeting with Lucy. If it gets wildly out of hand, it might go through the end of LWW too and include his redemption. Purpoise was actually mentioned earlier in this tale-Lucy's escape to Archenland was accomplished through his help. But he's mentioned, not present, and unless I write another sea story he probably won't be-that's the hard part about writing Turtles! Peter having sense I picked up from the books, actually-when I reread his portions to try to figure out how to picture him, I realised most of what he does is sensible. And I'm certain Patterfeet would send a message that way, but there aren't any Narnian birds about; they're out of Narnia, unfortunately. And yes, I like to imagine that talking Animals are much cleverer about using their feet, paws, fingers, claws, than regular animals, and can therefore do much more. After all, Mrs. Beaver had a sewing machine, which would require quite a bit of dexterity! **


	10. Peter Going Places He Really Shouldn't

**Disclaimer: Lewis first put these ideas into the world; they entered my head and took over, and I'm not paid for playing with them. **

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, with my thanks!**

**WARNING****: unpleasant (sometimes sickening) things happen in this chapter; both spoken of and in actuality. This is another T-rated chapter. **

OOOOO

Unlocking the door was relatively easy for Patterfeet; Peter left it mostly closed, open enough to slip into easily but not enough to draw attention from either end of the hall, if anyone checked. They hung the keys back on the hook in the adjacent hallway, a small affair barely Peter's height, scored repeatedly by tool marks. Peter quietly followed the most recent footprints in the dirt through the short length of the man-made cave and into another, larger, one, Patterfeet quivering on his shoulder. Peter checked around; there were subdued voices echoing through the open area, but no people in sight. Peter slid along the wall, smiling grimly. Edmund usually took the lead when they walked like this, and sad he was to miss his younger brother's presence.

The cave narrowed and split into smaller openings in several places, but Peter did his best to follow the sound. They went down one wrong turn, but the noise died quickly and Peter retraced his steps, rubbing off the mark he'd scraped as high above eye level as he could reach, as he'd done on every turn they'd taken.

Fortunately there were but two more turns before the voices grew distinct. "Everything a man could want, see? Now, then, breakfast is served once the sun sets, in about an hour or more. Good day, your Tarkaanships, then." Peter glanced swiftly around, then backed as quickly as he could to the last turning and shoved himself down the opposite path. He waited, barely breathing, for the footsteps to come closer. _Aslan, let them go back the way they came, and not down this turning._ He lifted Patterfeet from his shoulder, silently motioning the Squirrel to climb the wall. They would not both be caught, if their enemies' path told against them. Patterfeet began to scurry up the wall, claws scratching, and Peter grabbed the nearest paw, putting a single finger to his lips once he had the Squirrel's attention. Patterfeet nodded, and climbed once again, setting paws carefully and silently. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, then stiffened. They were talking.

"...don't see why we 'avn't just taken them five and the king and sold 'em off. Them three soldiers 'ud be easy to take, what with all of us. Six in a swipe? It's as good as our last month!" a gravely voice grumbled.

"Aye, a good payday, it is. But stop and think, gull-head! We've taken six, and only six, an' why? Narnia ain't as helpful as Archenland or Galma. There's fewer _men_. Or women. There's a lot of other meat, to be sure, but that don't sell. But Calormen - if Calormen takes Narnia, why, what happens then?" A pause, and Peter could hear the footsteps more clearly; they were at the meeting of the tunnels. They stopped for a moment, and Peter tensed. Which way would they head? He heard a _smack_, and thought Dagguer must have hit his companion.

"Calormenes live in Narnia," the graveled voice rumbled, though a note of it protested.

"And Calormenes are _men_, aren't they? The race of men. Not quite so much they'll be common pickings, but enough we can catch those we please, right?" Peter breathed out. Their voices were fading; he hesitated. Should he follow them? It at least explained another reason why Dagguer was helping the Calormenes. But what did Dagguer need the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve for? And five others; that meant Uvayeth and the sheep-like Igteroth were here with three soldiers; that shouldn't be too difficult to escape from, once they left.

Peter silently made his decision. He meant to scout out the rest of the tunnels that night, and would find Dagguer when there was less chance of the man noticing footsteps following him. For now, he wanted to see what the Calormenes' plans were - and how best to overset them. He held his hand up towards where the wall curved into the roof, and Patterfeet's paws gripped his hand a moment later, the weight pushing as the Squirrel jumped, then ran down the arm to sit once again on Peter's shoulder. The King retraced his steps to the turning and went down but a few steps before another opening appeared, covered with a rich curtain of scarlet interwoven with golden thread. It did nothing, Peter noticed dryly, to hinder sound. He set Patterfeet on the wall once again, gesturing to the small opening between the curtain and the top of the opening. The Squirrel obediently ran up the wall (silently this time, Peter noted approvingly) and crouched at the top of the shadowed doorway.

"By the altar of Tash, I've enough of your snivelling! Have you forgotten the courage and glory of our venture, which even the gods must approve? A knife held to your throat and you crumble as if water ran in your veins instead of Tarkaan blood! Would I had Lamash here instead!"

"Then you should have asked _him_, my lord, and not a humble third son who only wanted what you guaranteed was an easy venture! I was brought up in the enlightened ways of the priests of the Southern Temples, chosen by Zardeena herself, with none of your blood and blades. Was not Lamash taught the ways of Tash at his temples? As the poets have said, fit the tool to the task, and the training to the challenge."

"Silence!" Uvayeth snarled, and Peter smiled. It did so make his day when things didn't please Uvayeth. "I am no fool. I fell into conversation with Lamash on the way here. I found him soft. His sentence in the prisons of Tash did not teach him Tash's temperament, but things more suited to merchants and philosophers. Fool he! He would take Narnia's gold by effort, her silver by cunning, and her food by a trade of spices. Marked you not how he respected that second King? And Lamash with the cunning that could please Tash Himself! If he had been by my side, we would already be sailing into Tashbaan's harbor, the High King bound and beaten below, and the Queen cowering before our words, ready to be the slave of the donkey-son of the Tisroc (may he live forever). All the others would have been easy to fool, if I had but Lamash by my side. But you!" and Peter heard the muffled sound of a blow, probably a kick, and a muffled sound of pain. "You, as obedient and idiotic as a sheep, are all I have to rely on! If we fail, it will be your fault!"

"We may not fail, oh nephew of the Tisroc, for is not, as you have said, Tash himself on our side? You have but to give the fifteen slaves when they arrive, and the High King will be ours, and we may sail swiftly home, the blessings of Tash and Zardeena filling our sails."

There was a pause. Peter frowned; was this not the Tarkaan's plan? Patterfeet, curious, squirmed all the way through the opening and into the other room.

"Fifteen slaves?" Uvayeth echoed, and Peter could hear his footsteps beginning to pace. "And where am I to have gotten fifteen slaves? Ikelken, may he be kicked and scorned by all those with the blood of Tash, forbid our bringing slaves to Narnia. Diplomacy, he called it, quoting the lesser poets about living the life of our enemies! But the higher poets speak of enlightening them, and I insisted, as my right as the Tisroc's (may he live forever) nephew, but still the fool denied me! How, pray, was I to smuggle fifteen slaves into the borders of a country with that foolish fault-finder hanging over me?"

"You do not have the slaves?" Igteroth asked, his voice shaking. "We are finished! The light of Zardeena is not among these craven flesh-dealers, and their leader is mad! We are ruined, ruined, our graves will lie beneath the sea!"

"Hush, you son of a dog! I am tired of your endless, craven wailing!" and from the sounds Peter guessed that Uvayeth strode back and kicked Igteroth several more times.

In the cover of those sounds, Peter had not heard other ones - footsteps, almost silent, creeping up behind him. But he noticed the cold metal of a dagger at his throat, and he heard Dagguer's whisper in his ear. "I warned you, King. But one over others never tends to listen, does he? Ah, but you've found other things to listen in on, haven't you, things I wanted to know myself." The dagger pressed against Peter's neck, and Peter stopped breathing, willing his throat to be still and not press against the blade when he breathed in. "Up, then, up. It seems I'm not to rest today." Fingers gripped his arm, hard enough to bruise, and they yanked, angry and strong. "Would you know about that, I wonder? People thwarting you at every turn. I'm done with it! Inside!" Dagguer's voice was rising, and the sounds from the room cut off just before Peter was pushed through the curtain. There was no exit, Peter noted quickly, just eight beds made with rich but mismatched clothes and pillows, and water-stained dressers at the foot of each. Three of the beds at the far end had small, worn bags resting on them, and men with weapons near them. The two nearest the door (_foolish_, Peter thought, _foolish of Uvayeth to stay where he is most easily overheard_) had richer belongings, but Peter barely noted them, or the two men standing at one end. Patterfeet was not in sight, and the dagger was still at his neck.*

"Now then," Dagguer said to Uvayeth, ignoring the glare the man was trying to incinerate him with. "Let's bargain, shall we?" His grip tightened harder on Peter's arm. "I've got what you wanted, and, why, you just said you _hadn't_ got what I wanted. Now that's upsetting." He paused. "You should ask my men what happens when I'm upset. Should have told you before this, but it wasn't good manners. Now I don't care about good manners, now that you _haven't got what I want_. Siseke! Helkath! Beten!** You lot, get in here!"

Peter heard running feet from outside their cave, saw the Calormene soldiers tensing and coming forward to stand near Uvayeth, and tensed in readiness, though the dagger cut into his throat as Dagguer felt his muscles harden. Behind them Peter heard the rustling of the curtain and heavy breaths, and heard men spilling into the room.

"Now listen, you foreign lot, for I'm saying this once, and once only. Bargains with me are signed in blood, and blood's what I take, if the other side ain't kept. Now 15 slaves is a nice payoff for us, a lot of gold, nice enough I won't just treat you like I treat the other bird-brained folk who cheated me. I'll give you five days, see, to go and get twice your side of the bargain. Five days, to sail to Calormen and be back. Or then, well, you needn't worry about watery graves and all that," he said to the cowering Igteroth. "No, that's not what we do with those who steal from us." Grating laughter echoed from the men behind them - Peter guessed there were at least ten, a few spilling into his peripheral vision - "No, we sell them to our buyers. We have very special buyers, very, very large ones." Peter frowned - that sounded like giants, but - "And these giants, well, they regard humans as rare. A delicacy, one might say. A very, very delicious delicacy."

"Liar," Peter said in a low tone. "The Giants at our Northern border kill and pillage, but they do not desecrate the corpses of their victims. You lie!"

Dagguer chuckled, and Peter's hair lifted along his neck. "Now, that would be right, King Peter! But these giants, well, they're a bit different. I'm not mad enough - not quite enough, you understand - to tell you where they are, but the giants of Harfang, they're a treat to deal with. Always keep their side of the bargain, they do, and pay well for Man. Make them into pies,*** they do, if they get enough of them, and right well they pay for it. And that's my job. Just enough they'll pay high, see, but enough for a nice bit of wealth."

Igteroth leaned over and vomited. Peter's own stomach was churning; this, this was what his Narnians had faced? This is what had happened to the eight who had gone missing from the Northern border?

"Now, that's not nice! And in our guest room and all!' Dagguer mock-complained from right behind Peter's ear. "But we'll clean it up. And you'll go and get us our slaves, or take their place." His humor vanished, and Peter knew he wasn't joking. Uvayeth nodded stiffly, stepping towards the bed on the other wall. Dagguer shook his head.

"Ah, ah, ah, not you. You, you've grand ideas, see, and plans, and if you left, why, I doubt you would care about your poor friends enough to come back. No, you we keep, you and the other three. You," and the dagger lifted from Peter's neck to point at Igteroth, who was still sweating and wiping his mouth, "you go back to Calormen and get us our slaves, see?"

"I - I - I can't sail," Igteroth stuttered, backing towards his own bed.

"Now, don't worry! Safe sailors, my men are! A few of them will go with you, just to see you safely there and then, see, safely back!" Igteroth nodded quickly, blindly scrambling behind him for the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He faltered when Uvayeth called his name.

"Do not think to go and leave us here once you are back in Calormen," the Tarkaan hissed. Peter felt Dagguer's hair brush his neck as the man nodded.

"See, you'd be breaking the bargain again then, and, well, we've gone over what happens then, see? So you won't be breaking it, will you. Because we know how to get to people; kidnappers, see? And, well - we know you now." Igteroth looked about ready to cry, and Peter wanted to shake his head. It was just, and he wished people believed in justice enough they didn't make these choices, for they became both villain and wretch. "Off with you now. Helkath, Beten, see to it, right? Nice and easy. He ain't gonna give you trouble, I can see it." Two burly, ill-dressed men stepped forward, Igteroth hastily moving towards them, and nearly running out the door. "Right, then, be our guest for five days more, and pray to that Tash of yours he comes back with 30 slaves. In the meantime," and the dagger pressed back against Peter's neck, "I've a captive to deal with." He pressed Peter's arm, turning them, and Peter saw nine men. They parted to let the two leaders through, and then the band fell in step behind, if the footsteps Peter heard were anything to go by. Dagguer marched Peter back through the turnings, the large cave, the small, man-made connecting one, and into the barred corridor. Dagguer's must have signaled someone, because one of the band slipped in front of them and opened the cell door. Dagguer threw Peter into it, Peter rolling and coming back to his feet, facing the cell entrance. Six men behind the bars, and Dagguer standing in the entrance.

Peter was grimly glad for the numbers. Oath or not, resisting seven armed men without a weapon usually made situations worse, not better. Dagguer wouldn't kill him yet. Speaking of which...

"You broke your oath, High King," Dagguer drawled.

"I have not escaped nor resisted. My oath stands intact." Peter widened his stance, lowering his center of gravity, and placed his arms to protect his ribs. He doubted Dagguer would agree with him.

"Well, now, you weren't headed towards an exit?" The High King shook his head; whether Dagguer believed him or not, he would speak the truth. "See, now, I believe you. I saw your marks, see, above the door. You meant to get back here. But my men," Dagguer shook his head, lips pursed, "they won't think that. And I can't have them questioning my authority, see? I let those Calormenes get off with no punishment, and I can't do that twice, now, can I? Sorry though I am, but, well, I kind of enjoy it, truth told! And they've been aching for a go at a King anyway, and the giant King is a bit much to handle. Besides, they're both clients, see? Can't go whaling on them! But captives, now, that's something else." He turned towards the men behind him, grinning on the other side of the cell. "Don't break anything, for we can't fix it," he commanded as he walked out of the cell.

* * *

His men were quite thorough, Peter thought grimly. Obedient, too, for there were no broken bones. But every part of Peter hurt, and he hadn't hesitated to lay down on the least-bruised side once the band left the cell. He closed his eyes. _Aslan_, he thought, breathing through the pain like he'd been taught. _In You are the ref-_

He broke off as he heard a familiar sound, opening his eyes. Hope flared at the sound of scurrying claws.

"Patterfeet."

OOOOO

*The evil part of me considered ending the chapter there, by the way. Considering all that happened after it, maybe "are you happy I didn't" isn't the right question, though.  
**After reading through Joshua I've decided to start naming people in my stories after towns in that story. Just in case they were familiar to anyone (though the first one is modified), or someone else wanted to use the same trick.  
***For those who don't remember, the King of Harfang shouts, "After them, after them, or we'll have no man-pies tomorrow" in _The Silver Chair_.

**Response to Anonymousme: I have heard of Webtoons - though it was the Japanese version of the site. I avoided it as I'd far rather, at the time, live and explore outside. :) And I would have gotten sucked in. There was a pretty big hint in the chapter as the general location of the caves, and I'm kind of curious if you caught it? Since almost all of the story building is done, all that's left is the few chapters left of the climax and resolution, so you should have the answers to all your other questions soon! **


	11. Sent Away

**Disclaimer: The story has up to this point insisted on its own way, and has now left me hanging with no direction at all I've very little idea what's going to happen in the rest of this tale, and can hardly claim it as mine. Frustrating story. **

**Beta'd by trustingHim17 - thank you!**

OOOOO

Their circumstances had hardly changed from a few hours ago, Peter reflected grimly as he listened to the Squirrel. More bruises, more information, but basically unchanged. No, the only thing that had changed was what had to be done. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe through the pain. He began counting the scratching footsteps and his brow furrowed. Patterfeet wasn't running. That was odd. Unless—Peter scrambled to his feet, hissing softly as his weight rested on bruises, reaching for the bars. Surely the Squirrel hadn't been harmed?

One step. Then another. And a sound that hadn't been there before, the sound of metal slowly dragging over the dirt floor. Peter's heart winced; what if the Squirrel was chained? But - why wouldn't there be people with him. Peter almost called out, but pressed his lips together. It would not be good for Patterfeet if Dagguer knew Peter valued a fellow prisoner.

Two more slow steps, and another slow dragging. Peter, holding the bars for balance, moved achingly over to the far side, so he could see at angles down the cave, watching for the first glimpse. It was a tail first, Patterfeet's brown, busy tail, held almost straight up. The Squirrel was facing back the way he came, dragging something, Peter realized, as the hind feet came in sight and the Squirrel's back strained itself into view, pulling something. But it was a rope around the Squirrel's waist, looped, not tied. Peter closed his eyes for a moment in relief, then opened them once more.

The Squirrel was dragging the large, heavy bucket of water down the hall. Straining to move something larger than he was himself, Peter could hear Patterfeet grunting as he fought the barrel for every inch.

"Patterfeet!" Peter called softly, and the Squirrel jumped, turning in midair, the rope dropping from his waist.

"King Peter!" Patterfeet ran down the hall and through the bars in moments, Peter feeling small claws catch on his clothing and instantly releasing as Patterfeet climbed him. The Squirrel's small paws patted all over Peter's face, gently avoiding the cuts, the Squirrel mumbling, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I hid, I remembered you said to, and I _wanted_ to come out, to stop them, and I jumped down, but Oreius said we have to _obey_, and I went back up again, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, so very sorry, King Peter." Tears were splashing down from the bright black eyes and around the tiny nose.* Peter lifted up on careful hand and wiped them away, one side and then the other, than back again as the Squirrel blinked and more fell.

"Be at peace, good cousin. I am well. Bruises are not so uncommon for those who defend Narnia, and bruises and a bit of a blood are all I have. See?" and Peter patted the Squirrel's head comfortingly. "I yet retain motion in all my limbs and there is nothing broken inside. It is well, little cousin."

"But you're _bleeding_," the Squirrel protested, and Patterfeet's paw patted gently at Peter's cheek.

"Not much; 'twill stop soon."

"I brought water," Patterfeet remembered, nearly jumping off Peter's shoulder in eagerness to go get what he'd brought for his King. "I can help; I couldn't help before, but I can help now. I can drag – King Peter, what is it?" For the High King had put one large hand over the Squirrel to stop him from moving.

"I must ask your help for another task, and one which will displease you," Peter said softly. He moved to the back wall, sitting down very slowly, but not letting a single sound of pain escape to distress the Squirrel. He took one paw and led the Squirrel down his arm and into his lap, the Squirrel standing on his legs and looking at him seriously. "How many of the words in Uvayeth's chambers reached your attentive ears?"

"All of them, my King. I didn't know if you wanted me to do anything, and I was listening for it, sir" Patterfeet explained.

"Then you know of the evil Dagguer brings on our people. Uvayeth and his men I can take well enough, once healed; they distress me not. But the evil this plague of kidnappers visits on Narnia must be ended, and that soon. If Aslan wills that Igteroth not return with the fifteen slaves (and I would rescue them as well, if Aslan permits) and I am to be delivered to those who eat us, then we know not where the Giants of Harfang reside, and have not time to scour the Northern lands to find them in time to save my royal head from becoming pie. But we have five days till then. We are not in Narnia," and Peter cupped his hands under the Squirrel, lifting the large Animal closer to his face. "There is no other land where kindness is oft accorded to Animals, and when I send you, you must be cautious. Hide from all those you do not know. Head south, praying to Aslan to guide your paws to Narnian lands, and from there seek help to fly to Cair Paravel, and tell my sisters and brother all this tale. Mark your path as you go, that you may lead them back, and Dagguer and his lot, and Uvayeth and his grasping companions, may learn of justice in Narnian courts, or at the end of a Narnian blade."

"But who will look after you, King Peter, sir?" The hind feet were clenching around Peter's fingers, and the dark eyes had grown bigger in the pointed face.

Peter laughed; he could not help it, for it was a question (or accusation) that had been said to him more than once. "Aslan's paws hold us all, little cousin. If I am left with none but Him, I am still safer than if Oreius and all his guard were here."

Patterfeet frowned, thinking it over. "No," he said at last. Peter raised an eyebrow. "No, sir. No. I mean yes, sir, you're safe that way, sir, but Oreius told me not to leave, sir, till someone else could watch you, and I don't think he meant Aslan, sir, and he told me not to let you talk me out of it. And he said you'd try, and I'd have to listen, and be respectful, and obey, unless I thought it wasn't safe for you, and I don't think it's safe here, sir. So I can't leave, but can I please go get the water, sir?"

Peter closed his eyes. He knew why Oreius had said that, of course; this was a training exercise for the Squirrel (and a way of keeping an eye on the King), and not meant to be an actual mission where yes, Patterfeet would need to obey orders. _But why, Aslan_, _did You have to allow this on top of everything else?_ The King debated arguing it out for that moment, but he'd seen children—and Patterfeet was little more than that, no matter his courage—turn stubborn before, and knew reason and commands would both be useless at this moment. And the Squirrel might feel better if Peter was at least attended to. "The bucket should be put back, little cousin, so none stumble across it, but I would accept a cup with thanks. Understand our discussion is not finished," he said, once more catching Patterfeet with one hand before the Squirrel could bound away. "There is yet more lessons you must learn about the authority of Kings, even over generals, and I fear this lesson must be learned now. But water first, as thanks for your kindness in pulling it so far."

The Squirrel—having realized the barrel would not get through the bars—lifted the cup out of the barrel and brought it to the cell, and Peter asked for his help in washing off the blood and dirt on his face, since the King couldn't see it very well. That finished, and Patterfeet having made the laborious journey to put the bucket back and dusted the prints away with his tail, Peter settled down against the wall once again, the Squirrel standing at attention in front of him.

"I understand you have been given orders," Peter began. "Your orders are from Oreius. You listen to him because you are pledged to his authority, are you not?" Patterfeet nodded. "He is pledged to mine, and through him, you also are pledged to me. All Narnians are, for Aslan gave them to me to guard, and in return they must give me their obedience. You must obey what I command of you. And I tell you, as your High King and Aslan's appointed authority, to go back to Narnia, and lead my brother and sisters here." Patterfeet's tail curled around his feet as he looked at the ground.

"I know that, sir, I do, I do, but-"

"But?" Peter asked after the pause continued.

"I don't want to leave you alone here, sir, and I haven't seen Aslan. Couldn't He show Himself, before I left? Just so I know you're not alone, sir, and if they come again—I wasn't much help, sir, but, but, they _hurt_ you, and I don't want you to be alone, sir. Aslan made four of you, sir, so you'd not be alone, and sir, sir, couldn't I just see Him before I left?"

"That is ours to ask, but not ours to demand. Whether He shows Himself or not, little cousin, you must be His page and obey. Narnia," and Peter laid both hands on the tiny shoulders, "is what you must be concerned with now. Will you listen to me, obeying Aslan, and go where someone must?" Patterfeet gulped but nodded. "Then back to the hall with you, good cousin, and Aslan go with you." Peter again painfully got to his feet, but paused at the sound at the end of the hall. The door, he realized, and without a second's hesitation threw Patterfeet up towards the hiding place the Squirrel had made in the cell's ceiling. Patterfeet scrabbled at the dirt, bits raining down on Peter as they crumbled, but caught his balance quickly and vanished with a flick of his tail. Peter looked down as he realized with apprehension he was far to clean, and scooped up some dirt from the floor to rub on his hands, and smeared one hand on his face. He curled back against the back wall, lying down and hoping his captors would think he was sleeping off the pain.

Footsteps—a single pair this time. They approached the cell quickly. Peter did not stir, even when they paused.

"Ah, I'd be acting asleep too, King of Narnia, that I would. Though mayhaps it's not an act. And it's sorry I am for the beating, but there you are, nothing for it! The men must be kept happy. Nothing broken, though, by the way you're lying. Good, good! Now I thought you'd like to hear the news, for news I have, you see. Igteroth—Calormene names are strange, aren't they?—will be off in half an hour, and we've royally frightened him—ha ha, royally, do you get it? Ah, the payday must be making me giddy. Fifteen slaves'll be enough to set me right up, see? So I thought you'd like to know it's like as not we'll get them. Igteroth is a sheep, coward through and through. A coward and a fool, I don't like dealing with their likes." Peter could hear Dagguer shaking his head. "I like you better. But business is business, see? But I came to tell you it looks like it's Calormen for you, and not the Giants. Just as well. More men for us, in the long run. Right! Well, I'll be off. I've a ship to see sail." Peter still didn't move, even as the footsteps retreated. Not until the sound of the door closing echoed down and the hall remained silent did he open his eyes, pushing himself up (silently) and shaking his own head. Dagguer was mad, he was quite certain. Fond enough of a prisoner to bring him good tidings, but not enough to stop him from selling the prisoner to giants to be eaten.

"Sir?" questioned a timid voice from the ceiling.

"Down, good Patterfeet, if you would," Peter responded. He knelt once the Squirrel was before him. "Many of the men will be watching the ship sail; 'twill be easier to leave the caves. Watch the stars, good cousin, and mark by the Leopard which direction you travel." Patterfeet nodded again, and hiccupped. "Aslan give you courage, good cousin. Five days."

Patterfeet bowed—the same bow Peter had seen in the halls of Cair Paravel, a bow that reminded the King of his station in the midst of a dirty cell—and left with a scurry of his claws.

"Aslan, keep him safe, and Narnia free," Peter whispered, listening till the door again shut softly. _And thank You, that Patterfeet did not leave earlier, and be caught by Dagguer on the way_. Peter paused. The Squirrel had been about to leave—he would have left, if he had not earlier stubbornly, annoyingly insisted on staying. A slow smile grew, till it filled Peter's bruised face. _You made Patterfeet stay till it was safe for him to leave, did You not?_ For all it had annoyed Peter—it had been for their safety. Though he had not seen Aslan, Peter saw again proof that Aslan guided them even here. _Thank You, King above all High Kings._

* * *

The next few days dragged for the High King. Once a day, some of the band brought him food, and a few times Dagguer came to chat—unwelcome company, but one Peter bore with fortitude. He learned nothing new from the man sitting on the stool outside the door, save that Dagguer owned pigeons. He'd sent these with his sailors, and the (normal) birds would occasionally fly back with news from the journey attached to their legs. Igteroth had arrived in Calormen, going straight to Uvayeth's estate to collect the slaves. One of the band—Beten, Dagguer said—went with him. Dagguer expected another pigeon the following day, telling them the men had set sail ("with the slaves, o course, see, King?"). Dagguer seemed to think these visits were comforting to the High King. Granted, Peter did not relish the thought of being eaten, but it was the healing of his bruises (though they bloomed in many colors), and the limbering of his muscles that gave him the most comfort, for if the slaves came he wished to be ready to take his freedom by force from the Calormens.

Only the next day came, and the pigeon did not. Dagguer was uneasy, Peter could tell, but still reassuring. "Lots can happen to birds over the sea, see? And Beten, he don't write so well, and maybe he lost his ink. Not like you, King. No worry yet, see?"

"Not for you," Peter responded. "For all your heart can worry for is the loss of your gold. Fool, for you cannot see that all that you have will be taken! Gold, freedom, and mayhap your life, as you have often taken what is not yours. This is your first warning, Dagguer. Take heed of it. This will not go to your plan."

Dagguer looked at him, studying. Peter let him; the man could no longer discomfort him, for he had no more Narnian lives to threaten Peter with. "So sure," Dagguer muttered. "So sure in this. Why? What 'ave you, King of Narnia, as makes you so sure? Look at you! Captive, hungry, and possibly meat. _You've_ everything taken from you, not me!" Dagguer kicked his stool back as he stood, suddenly menacing. Peter looked at him calmly from the inside of the cell.

"You cannot take from me what Aslan has entrusted me with," Peter responded quietly. "There is reason you call me 'King' even here."

Dagguer clenched his fists, mouth opening to retort—and then closing with a hiss. The madman turned, striding away from the cell. He did not return the next day, though Peter wondered if the bird had returned, and what it's message would have said. He did not think Dagguer would have any regrets about selling him to the Giants now.

The fourth day passed, hour by crawling hour. Peter spent it reworking an old Narnian poem—a cry for help to Aslan, actually, written before their reign—and calming his spirit to the idea of either fate. It was Aslan's choice, not his enemies', and he would gladly accept whatever Aslan sent his way. He settled himself down to sleep on those thoughts.

He woke on the fifth day to grinning men—one of them Siseke, if Peter remembered Dagguer's shouting aright, the gravel-voiced man who acted as the second-in-command—rattling the bars. "His High Kingliness is awake," the unknown man sneered, his hand already at the knife on his wrist. "Just waking up in time for the news, he is."

"And what news is that, good hosts?" Peter inquired, sitting up.

"No bird's come," Siseke grunted at him. "Fifth day's come. No ship by sunset, and we'll be moving ya."

"Dagguer's already givin' orders," the second man rejoined. "We've come to treat your bruises, we 'ave. 'Wouldn't do for the meat to spoil,' he said. Up!" the man ordered, opening the cell door. They had grown bolder on seeing Peter had kept his word, even during the beating. "Jar, e's bringin' ice." Peter stood quietly, allowing them to treat the colorful spots on his arms and face. He showed none of the fear the men kept trying to provoke with their jeering remarks. _Aslan guides my fate_, he reminded himself, thinking of the song he had rewritten. _There is nothing they can do to me but what He allows_.

Finally tiring of their jeering, and not daring to bruise him further, his captors eventually left. The quiet was almost worse, Peter thought wryly. It was much easier to silence his fears when defiance was needed. But when defiance vanished, trust could still be had. He looked out the cell door, ready to be gone, but praying he left as one rescued, not as a captive. _Aslan_, he asked, _let my siblings and my people hurry. Freedom calls to me strongly, and I am ready to see evil workings cease._

OOOOO

*I could not, upon Googling, find out whether or not squirrels have tear ducts, and attempting to look up them "crying" just came up with the way they make sounds. I am therefore decreeing that in Narnia they are capable of crying.

**A/N: By the way, Patterfeet's (as-yet undiscovered) fate is not entirely my fault. It hadn't occurred to me to do anything to him, till SouthwestExpat asked me to be kind to him. And, well, that tends to give the more evil of authors ideas. Please feel free to share the blame. ;)**

**Response to Anonymousme: I tried to make that less of a cliffhanger; was that better? Because I do unfortunately have to end somewhere, and this was better than anywhere else. Life's busier now (spring's here!) so I usually have time to write about 5 pages instead of seven; but I'm thinking we should finish this story in 2 or 3 chapters. Hopefully. Maybe. If it behaves. Have a lovely week, and I hope your weather is warm and sunny!**


	12. Uncomfortable Allies

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Will never be mine unless I become a millionaire. Actually, I'm pretty sure that needs to be "billionaire." Maybe I'll just infiltrate Disney and steal it instead. (If I'm not distracted by the myriad of other things Disney that I love and if, of course, stealing wasn't wrong.)**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, who splendidly turned this around in a few hours so it could still be published today.**

**A/N: I'll admit I got so tired of Peter's unpleasant captivity I shortened the last chapter and made the five days pass quickly. It makes for a bit less of a climax, and for that I apologise (and am attempting to build the story back up)—but my brain was stuttering and came up with absolutely nothing to happen in those five days but more unpleasant things I didn't want to think about, and I didn't want to write any more of them. I'll try to build up to a better climax as Peter's evening progresses.**

**WARNING: contains violence. The fighting begins, and I'm sorry, swords are often bloody. **

OOOOO

Peter fell asleep. Later his siblings would tease him about being at such peace he could sleep while his fate was so uncertain. But he had committed his future to Aslan, and he slept while he could.

He was awoken by a quiet rushing voice, one that sounded so familiar, and to a light pressure on his legs and chest. "Your Majesty? King Peter? No, I mean High King. High King Peter? Sir, wake up sir, please wake up, Aslan, don't let them have hurt him and him not wake up! Are you hurt? Why won't you wake up? Please wake up, please, sir, please? Please? You _have _to wake up! WAKE UP SIR! Oh no no no no, I shouldn't have _yelled_, and not at _him_, pages don't do that! I'll, wait, what was that? Did they hear me? We've got to get out of here! Are you ok, sir? Wake up! _Please_ wake up, sir?"

Peter opened his eyes to see bright black ones a few inches from his face. Patterfeet was standing on Peter's legs and attempting to shake the High King's large body with his tiny front paws.

"Patterfeet?" Peter sat up quickly, arms moving to balance the small Squirrel. "What do you here?" The High King's face grew stern. "Found you Narnia, and my siblings?" He looked the Squirrel over, eyes noting the bandage around one of Patterfeet's legs, wrapped from heel to thigh.

"Yes, sir, I did, sir, I did! I climbed the mountain, and it took all night. I fell off, sir, and hit the rocks, but a Narnian Owl* heard me crying. I'm sorry about the crying, sir, my leg really hurt. He flew me to Cair Paravel, sir, he and an Eagle, and I told them everything, and Lamash, sir, he went back to Calormen right away and Aslan gave him good winds and he wanted to help, sir, he was going to be one of the slaves Igteroth brought back, only he sent a message saying that Rabadash found out and didn't allow it, sir-"

"Rabadash what?"

"Because the prince didn't want Uvayeth winning, sir. Lamash is going back to the temple of Tash! King Edmund asked me to tell you to remind King Edmund when they got back to rescue Lamash, but rescuing you is first, sir, and most of us came by boat, and Oreius didn't like that because we had to take small boats to not be seen, sir, and he couldn't come, but King Edmund said I could run ahead and check on you. Are you all right? Please, sir, please be all right; please?"

"Hush, good cousin; I am well. It was not in the interests of my captors to harm me further, be at peace. Is my brother near?"

"He's sending scouts to find all the entrances, sir. I drew him a map—I remembered!" Patterfeet said proudly, standing straighter; but then he drooped. "Only, I just remembered inside the caves, sir, not all the ways out. And Queen Lucy said that was all right, I still helped, and that was when King Edmund let me come find out if you are all right. I'm supposed to go back to him, sir, and report." Patterfeet hesitated, eyes suddenly looking down. "I don't want to, sir."

"And why not?" Peter inquired gravely. He longed to ask about his sister—surely Edmund had not brought her along, and how was she back from Archenland? But the problem in front of him should be dealt with first, though he thought he knew the cause of Patterfeet's hesitation. Narnians were ever loyal.

"I don't want to leave again till you leave, High King Peter."

Peter laughed, softly so his captors might not hear, and stood. Ah, Aslan, it was good to be around the Lion's own again. He started striding towards the bars, but paused to look down at the Squirrel who kept pace with him. "There is little in war that a soldier _wants_ to do, but still it must be done. Go give tidings to my siblings of my health, and then, if they permit, rejoin me. But first, good cousin, if they are close, I desire to meet them in the halls and not be found here in this prison. My brother gains much joy, once our enemies lie vanquished, in reminding me of all the times he must come to my rescue; his ribbing must be diminished if he finds me outside my cell." Peter did not mention the other reason, that if Rabadash had stopped Igteroth's ship from coming, in a few hours Peter's captors would be coming for him. "But quietly!" he reminded Patterfeet. "For it would not do for such advantage to be lost this late." The Squirrel, with a noise so familiar and now joyous, bounded away down the hall, quickly returning with the clink of metal keys. Peter left his cell, locking the door behind him. Aslan willing, it was a place he would never return to. "Now run to my siblings, whilst I look to the movements of our enemies. And Aslan go with you," he added, bending to kiss the Squirrel's head with the blessing of the High King. "Be of good courage, cousin, for I am still in Aslan's paws." Patterfeet bowed, bounded up a wall, and took off running down the hall, his tail whisking—and not falling off this time, Peter thought with a smile. Freedom lifted his spirits to joy.

Yet caution still called with a warning voice. His rescue was close but not present. And he was pretty sure Dagguer would happily have him run through, or a finger cut off, if the man found Peter wandering free again. Peter slipped into the small corridor and paused before the large cavern, listening from the shadows. Voices and footsteps echoed, but the sounds were distant. He braved the cavern and headed towards one of the passages he and Patterfeet had not explored, hoping it led towards an egress from the caves. He could meet the coming Narnians all the sooner, and lead them towards the men _they_ could resist and conquer.

But that passage did not lead outside; it led to grimy caves filled with snoring members of Dagguer's band. Peter backtracked quickly, pausing once again before a bend exposed him to the cavern. The sounds were closer.

He pushed himself against the wall in the shadows, and waited. The voices sounded animated, and he hoped that meant they were not coming to sleep, for the shadows did not hide him well enough if they came down this passage. Louder, louder, louder, arguing with such volume the echoes drowned out their words—Peter only caught "missing" and "your fault." He frowned; he'd hoped his escape would not be caught till he had at least found his own side.

All of this, too, is in Aslan's paws, he reminded himself. He waited, wishing impatiently for another task than to _hide. _

The noise grew softer, words again becoming indistinct. They had not come down his passage. Though they had woken some of their fellows, it seemed, as Peter heard grumbling curses from behind him. Time to leave.

Another passage, one that led to stores of food lined haphazardly on shelves and in a few scattered bins. Peter took a breath, refusing to allow his frustration to take hold. This was a gift, even if it wasn't the one he desired. He took a few of the stores from the shelves, hastily eating some of the bread, and the tasteless dried meat. He turned to leave when he heard running footsteps coming towards him.

"By Aslan's mane, why did I stop?" he muttered, ducking behind four of the bins stacked on top of each other. He crouched, hands splayed loosely on the floor, ready to move if needed. He listened.

Running steps, made by more than a single person. Harsh breaths. Rustling cloth. And—interspersed— metal clinking. The footsteps stumbled, halted, and just the breathing. Then-

"By the altar of Tash!" Uvayeth cursed. The sound of a hand smacking cloth. "Thou hast the brains of a donkey! We need _out_ of this thrice-accursed maze, not their beggarly food! Hear behind us the footsteps of those who seek us; they know we have left! I will _not_ be fed to the demons of their Northern world; find us a way out, now! Check the walls; this might have another tunnel that leads _out!_"

Peter paused. Uvayeth. Uvayeth, whose bargains and ambition had first led to their captivity. But for now, at least, they had a common desire to avoid an unpleasant end; and the Calormenes _could_ resist their captors, should they be found. Peter stood, stepping out from behind the bins.

One of the two guards saw him first, turning white and taking a step back. Uvayeth whirled, also taking a step back.

"By the light of Zardeena," the guard said hoarsely. "Go, ghost of the Narnian King, and haunt us no more!"

In spite of himself, Peter raised an eyebrow. How Edmund—or Lucy—would have loved to play this out. But with captors on their heels, he had no desire to prolong this fear. "I am no ghost, but a fellow captive still. Touch my hand, and feel my flesh." He held out his hand, and the guard, wavering, stepped forward. Uvayeth gulped, taking another step back, and the guard froze. Peter stood, as patiently as he could even as he itched to leave, holding his hand steady. The guard swallowed and stepped forward again, flinching when his hand touched Peter's. A brush at first, then the guard gripped it firmly once he felt it.

"Dagguer told us he'd killed you," Uveyath muttered, his face rapidly moving from fear to greed. "That he'd take the fifteen slaves to the giants for his trouble, and we'd be sent back to Calormen empty-handed; or fed to them with your dead and rotting body, if Igteroth did not come. But _now-_"

"I am not your captive," Peter warned sternly. "I do not doubt your former partner in unpleasant business meant to extort more from you—perhaps another fifteen slaves—since you would not make any attempt to find me once a ship-load of soldiers arrived—but that gives you no rights to my freedom or person now. Cease our quarrel till we are free or dead; then, as Aslan wills."

Uvayeth looked ready to argue, but ceased as the guard who'd been walking along the wall cleared his throat.

"If this unworthy servant may venture to speak, great nephew of the Tisroc (may he live forever), the barbarian King speaks with a wisdom beyond his years. If the unworthy dogs find us, it will not matter whether the barbarian be living or dead, but-"

"Cease!" Uvayeth snarled. "Truce, then, High King. But only till we are safe from the grasp of these vile and vicious-"

_And hopefully in the grasp of my brother and our _people, Peter thought, tuning out the rest. He turned instead to survey the store room once more. "There are no exits visible to my gaze; can you see any way to our freedom?"

Both soldiers shook their heads. Uvayeth turned with a frustrated sound, looking back towards the passage they had come from.

"Then we go back and pray for another way out," Peter said cooly, striding past the fuming Calormene. He did not wait to be obeyed, but listened for their footsteps as he walked. They followed, and he smiled grimly. Two swords, at least, against their captors. Perhaps even Uvayeth, motivated as he was by fear. Though Peter doubted the Tarkhaan had much skill. He seemed the kind to let others do his fighting for him.

Peter slowed as he neared the cavernous cave, the footsteps behind him muting as their owners walked softer. He peeked out, saw no one, and led the way to the next tunnel branching off.

His companions made little difference in the way of sneaking; it seems most of the kidnappers, knowing where the exits were, went to guard them. That left the labyrinth of caves empty and easy to transverse. But it did mean they would have a fight on their hands if they _did_ find an exit.

"Ware," Peter called in a low voice. The floor of their present tunnel was well-packed dirt, to the point of hardness, and Peter guessed it was well-traveled. The constant quiet sneaking through flickering torchlight was beginning to wear, and this had him tensing. Their footsteps sounded louder with no soft dirt to muffle them, and Peter moved towards the wall, sliding along it. Farther, and farther, around a curve and into darkness with little light, the next torch somewhere further than the bend. He moved further, into the light, listening for any sound. Breathing, moving, rustling—anything to let him know enemies were close.

Nothing. But their passage ended in a door, an actual wooden door. Peter paused, then tried the handle; locked. He looked back at one of the soldiers.

"Your dagger, if it please you," he commanded, holding out his hand. The nearest Calormene guard hesitated, then surrendered it. Peter stuck the tip between the door and the wall, pushing on the leverage to move the door back from the stone. He pushed until the lock popped out of its receiver and the door opened.** He handed the dagger back and slipped inside.

It was filled with things that made it almost worthy of a tiny dragon hoard. Swords, armor, clothing, coins, and other valuable belongs were scattered on the floor in haphazard piles, unsorted in a chaos that was any housekeeper's nightmare. Peter looked around once, ready to leave, then halted.

He saw Rhindon. It lay on top of his cloak, with lumps under it that were probably his boots. _His sword_. He felt a push on his shoulder, and the Calormene guards rushed past him, heading straight for the coins and the few scattered jewels. Their faces twisted with gleeful greed as they hurriedly scooped up valuables by the handful, stuffing coins in their sashes, one guard unwinding the white cloth around his helmet and making a sling he filled and knotted into a clumpy ball. Peter shook his head, walking quietly over to his boats, cloak, and sword. He picked them up one by one, arming himself once more. This, this felt like home wrapped around him, familiar and safe. He stood, satisfied, the feel of leather and comfort under his feet. He stooped and picked up a dented breastplate that might fit a man his size, a dusty helmet, and other armour.

For just a moment, he missed his brother so much he struggled to breathe. He looked around; the only others about were enemies. Not his brother, to tighten the straps to the breastplate and rib him about how it made him look fat. (Susan always assured Peter that it didn't, and Lucy always said he _looked_ as Magnificent as he _was._) Not a sword to guard his back and a brother against evil. All who were near were guards who wanted him broken, now filling their clothing with gold.

But he was on his way to find his brother. Or perhaps it was his brother who was on his way to find Peter. Either way, if Aslan allowed, he would see Edmund soon.

"Come," the High King reprimanded sharply. "'Tis enough, and would be of no use if you were taken to Harfang. We must away, and at once." The two guards scowled but left their thievery, and they rejoined Uvayeth. The Tarkaan was standing impatiently in the hall, muttering insults in a low voice at the other three. Peter didn't rebuke him; such insults took all Uvayeth's brain power and kept him from thinking—or disputing Peter's commands.

Back to the large cavern; Peter tried not to revolt as their feet stole through it yet again. They were getting _nowhere_.

_Patience_, he heard a gentle voice counsel him.

_Patience_, he agreed. _Each delay is as Aslan's wills, and I accept. Even if I wish He would tell me why._ He could see his sister's wry smile of agreement. _Perhaps this next passageway?_

Perhaps it was. Peter, leading the way, heard the sounds first. It was a repetitive sound, building, motion and water and collision, echoing, fading, and coming again.

A sound he heard every evening he was at home. They were near the sea; he could _hear_ the sea. Even if the sound was different, more crashing—they were near the sea, and nearly out of the caves. He drew in a breath.

"We're nearly out," he hissed as softly as he could, turning his head to face those behind him. "They sent men to every exit; draw your swords." He waited till the faint _shing_ of metal scraping metal finished and the curved scimitars were clenched in dark fists. "I have sworn to not resist them, and cannot foreswear myself, but this _can_ I do. I will distract them, running through them, turning their attention to myself, and halting just through the entrance. Once their attention cannot be turned to you, fall on them, and Aslan give us victory in this hour!"

The guards nodded, their faces grim. They knew their fate if they stayed, and Peter did not doubt their desperation. Uvayeth, too, had drawn his weapon, but he hesitated, staying behind the two men he'd recently insulted. Peter internally shrugged. The Calormene would need to defend himself soon enough; he might learn courage then.

The High King turned back towards the tunnel, walking forward till he could see the darkness lightening. He paused, turning back once more, checking the readiness of his begrudging allies, and then straightened, took a deep breath, and sprinted forward.

Around the last curve, three Centaur's lengths between him and the four—five men squatting at the exit, and he sped, feet digging into the dirt and breath coming hard, passing the first startled man before he gained his feet, dodging to the left of the man opposite him, and ducking under the dagger the third man flourished. The last two had been facing outward; they just turned when Peter ran through them, through, through, and out! Into the air that smelled of sea, into light and mountains and _freedom_. But he turned; still he had sworn not to escape, and his steps halted just out of reach. The curses of his captors rained on him now that the wind was not rushing past his ears, and all five were stepping forward, their attention fixed on him. One step forward, and he took one back; another, and he retreated, and at their grins glanced behind. A cliff, high above the sea, but fifteen paces behind him. He turned back towards the five, just in time to see three fall, two thrust through with scimitars, and the third bleeding from a deep cut on his throat. The other two turned at the cries of pain, but were cut down by the two guards, Uvayeth standing well back.

"Freedom, thanks be to Tash," the taller guard breathed.

"Tashbaan for me," the other agreed. "Be there a boat, by the gift of the gods?" He strode past Peter to the cliff, glancing down. "By Tash's beak, there is!"

"Tashbaan for us all," Uvayeth sneered, his eyes on Peter. He stepped forward, and the guards glanced at him warily. "I _knew_ my plan was favored by the gods! See, oh barbarian, what happens to those who sacrifice at their altars? O my enemy, behold, you are in my hands, and the way back to my kingdom lies open before us! You will be yet another sacrifice on the altar of Tash, bound to his will, and the poets will make sayings of your defeat! Igteroth or no, _I_ have brought you back, and none other!"

"You mistake your power. You, a consort of kidnappers, are no match for a King," Peter responded, his hand unsheathing Rhindon. "I have sworn no oath to _you_, and neither you nor your guards can take me against my will. Try your strength against mine! Only the blood of those thrust from behind darkens your blade. Mine has spilled that of warriors, and will yet spill yours, if you seek to master me." He glanced over his shoulder, shifting to his right so the guard behind him was in view. "I stand against the three of you!"

Uvayeth's face grew dark with anger and he motioned the guards forward. "Why do you hang back, you timorous cowards? He is but one to three, and the bolt of Tash falls for us! Forward! By the gods, why do you not move forward?"

The shorter guard stepped prudently away from Uvayeth's side, out of reach of the Tarkaan's arms. "He is a warrior, o great one. Tales were told in Tashbaan of his brother's valor just this year past, and 'tis said the High King is a match for him."

"Do not the poets speak of the glory of those who fall in battle? Oh that you had a tenth of their courage, for the one who falls by the sword will rise in glory and be sung of in the courts! Go, or I-" and he raised his own scimitar threateningly towards the guard. The guard eyed it—the other one watching with interest from the cliffs—and Peter wondered if he was measuring the danger from Uvayeth against the danger from Peter. And if he regretted serving a man so ready to spend the guard's life for the Tarkaan's own glory.

Either way, Peter had spent enough time doing nothing. He stepped forward, his sword catching Uvayeth's and forcing it down, twisting it to send it flying from the Tarkaan's hand. It flew right over the cliff, Peter was pleased to note, even as he turned swiftly to the guard, who backed away, lowering his scimitar.

"Fool of a man! Coward! Dog! One of you, disarm him!" Peter rolled his eyes, and brought the hilt of his sword up to tap Uvayeth on his temple. He was not gentle, and Uvayeth collapsed into unconsciousness.

"The warriors of Narnia will be here soon," Peter warned both guards. "You fought for your own freedom, as men will. Stand with me till they come, fighting for me if enemies approach, and your sentence in Narnia will be lightened. Or take your chances speeding to the boat below, before either kidnapper or soldier finds you, and sail back to Tashbaan empty-handed. But seek to take my freedom and you die."

The two guards glanced at each other, then the taller one also lowered his scimitar, wiping it on the grass and sheathing it. "No welcome besides the dungeons and torture chambers waits for us in the country of our birth, if we come back without the nephew of the Tisroc (may he live forever). And if we go back with him, our welcome would not be much better. We wait with you."

"Till Tash sends us opportunity to escape," the shorter one muttered under his breath, but Peter let him. That was a trouble for another time; and he did not think the Calormene would escape the piercing and vengeful eyes of the Narnian soldiers.

"Then unsheath your sword, for Dagguer's men may seek us yet, and we know not which will find us first," Peter ordered, eyes on the taller guard. Once the guard obeyed he stood them together, before Uvayeth's unconscious form, and well within eyesight. He went to the cliff, scanning the narrow strip below or the path for any sign of his people. Surely they were close?

A screech pulled his eyes up, to the sky, and he shaded his eyes. A grin stole over his face, growing larger and larger as the screech was repeated, a call to any who trained at the Cair, and he held his arm aloft as a Hawk plummeted from the skies. It landed on his arm, wings spread to keep balance before drawing in. Peter _knew_ this Hawk, had seen it at a court discussing missing Narnians but a week before. "Well met, good cousin. Be my brother close?"

OOOOO

*The inclusion of a Narnian bird finding Patterfeet was one of Anonymousme's suggestion.

** This is, by the way, a viable method to open locked doors if the lock is a poor one and is short, or if the door has even half an inch of space between it and the frame. Locks actually aren't that long, and I've had to use a screwdriver to open them before. (For completely legal purposes! I'm just [quite often] around small children that love to lock doors and then shut them from the _outside_. Or sometimes around forgetful adults.)

**Response to Anonymousme: I'm afraid it's another cliffhanger; there just doesn't seem to be an appropriate place to break the action! At least they're not in deadly peril. :) It may be a few more chapters after this - I realised in my first count I wasn't including the hinted resolution of some of our Calormenes - and I'm still not quite sure how to work that in! This story has been an experiment from start to finish, and I've written it with a much more "let's see what happens" than "this is what I have planned." ... I don't think I like that approach as much. :) Other than the weather, have things been well with you?**


	13. Reunited

**Disclaimer: Never have I ever owned a published novel (yet). This is just me putting an ornament on someone else's palace. **

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, as always! My thanks for the skilled help with commas, phrasing, and clarity!**

OOOOO

The Hawk bowed its brown head then, as if he could not help himself, peered up at Peter, taking in every part of his appearance. "Your brother and the main force are split in three parts, Your Majesty, and they besiege the three entrances we have found. This one we missed. I am sorry. We tried—the Squirrel Patterfeet told us you were unharmed-"

"It is found now, and I along with it," Peter reassured the Bird.

"Your sisters stay with the archers above the field of battle-"

"Both my sisters came here?" Peter interrupted, frowning as he noted the plural. Lucy had fought in battles before, despite her brothers' initial misgivings, but Susan hated war and had only fought twice, when Cair Paravel itself was under siege.

The Hawk paused. "The entirety of Cair Paravel's residents wanted to come, High King. The gardeners offered their skills with shovels, the maids and cooks with services for food and armour on our way—there is not a single page who didn't want to come to your rescue. I don't think these men knew what wrath they were unleashing, once Queen Susan came back. None of us could bear the set face with which she recited the villain's terrible words. I am glad that you are found, and well."

"For which we may give thanks to Aslan," Peter responded, a bit absently. He turned, scanning the mountain above the cave entrance. If the archers were above, and if his sisters were there—he would not have Uvayeth see them. "Fly to our nearest soldiers and bid them come here; once you see them arrive, fly to the other closest entrance and tell them in the space of an hour to attack. Our group will enter this unguarded entrance and come at them from behind. We end this evil today, by the grace of Aslan." The Hawk nodded, and Peter launched him into the air. He saw the scout safely away and turned to the two soldiers. "Bind your former master; we leave him here." The two moved swiftly at his command, and Peter smiled, knowing that seeing the swift obedience of the Hawk had transferred a little of Peter's authority to these two soldiers. They were his—for now.

"Peter!" The High King straightened, searching the mountain rising above him. "Peter! Peter! Fair brother, we're here!" There, scrambling over the mountains, he saw them; four Fauns, several red or black-bearded Dwarves, and there, in the midst of them, his two sisters. They scrambled down the rocks, sliding, stumbling, a Leopard at either side catching the girls if they fell too far. Peter smiled; apparently Edmund had had enough of family members in danger and was taking no chances with their sisters.

"Stay and guard our entrance," the High King commanded. "Remember, your choices are justice with us, or imprisonment and then murder with them." He raised his hands and grabbed the rocks above his head, swinging himself up over the entrance to the cave. He got one leg over the nearest ledge, and used it to raise himself to the more gradual slope. He was not going to let his sisters do all the work for this reunion; he had missed them.

Up, and up, and up, and he could hear the claws scratching stones as Leo and Por scrambled to catch his almost frenzied sisters, Lucy still calling his name. One more boulder, and he braced himself. Lucy's arms were around his waist a moment later, her weight testing his balance, and Peter held her close with one arm. The other he reached out to Susan, who had taken the more difficult path (sparing her younger sister), and who was pushing stray hair out of her face as she scanned him anxiously. She smiled as water began filling her eyes, and she came forward and buried her head in Peter's other shoulder. Peter, still alert to danger, relaxed as the Fauns and Dwarves surrounded them, faces out and standing guard. He closed his eyes and held his family.

Lucy was the first to pull away with a breathless laugh. "Our brother Edmund will be jealous that we found you first. His face was grim indeed when he heard what that wretch threatened."

"You are not hurt?" came Susan's gentle inquiry. Peter shook his head.

"Not more than when last you saw me, Gentle Queen. A few bruises and healing scrapes." Holding Susan closer for a single moment, he let his soul settle—his sisters were here—and let her go. "Part of our soldiers should be here soon; I mean to lead them through the tunnels and take our enemies from behind."

"We come with you," Lucy interrupted him. Peter looked at her determined face and inwardly groaned. It was rare he had won against her when her she looked so set.

"Truly, my brother, I also wish to keep the peace of mind that seeing you brings, far more than staying peacefully atop a mountain whilst you do battle inside it," Susan added quietly and earnestly. Peter studied the two faces, his heart giving in. His absence would have been quite hard on them.

"I do not think I have the time to win this argument." The High King turned, readying to climb back down. "But this I require; you stay behind the soldiers at all times, and if the battle goes against us and we are captured, you do not reveal yourselves as Queens. For this, I have your words?"

"You have mine," Susan agreed, her tone firm as she took his offered hand and began to once again climb down, the Fauns and Dwarves climbing down beside them.

"And mine." Lucy had taken his other hand, and he heard her tone rise to merriment again. "But I do not think the argument would have gone in your favor, brother mine."

"No indeed," her sister serenely agreed. "For the three of us decided that until you are safely back on your throne orders to the three of us hold no weight; you are captive rather than king."

Peter mock-scowled; but the gentle ribbing of his siblings was the sweetest thing he had experienced since he left them behind, and he knew they were well aware of it.

"And our brother Edmund longs most anxiously to find you, so that he too may enjoy your presence when you are without your authority. Have you seen him?" Susan asked, pausing and releasing Peter's hand to climb down a particularly large bolder. Behind her Leo growled anxiously.

"No," Peter admitted, gladly taking the hand she held out again. "I sent one scout to make him aware of what is happening, but-" He scanned all of the mountain within eyesight once again. "I wish he were here," he admitted quietly, too low for any but his sisters to hear. "Perhaps together we might have persuaded the two of you to stay behind," he added with a smile. He stopped, tugging on their hands to stop them as well. He turned, kneeling, and grabbing onto the rocks with a firm grasp before letting his body swing over the opening into the mountain. Once he stilled, he let himself drop, a Faun dropping to the side, and both of them immediately holding up their arms for the next soldier. Oreius had made them practice this, till speed and silence made the motions almost a dance. Once all the archers had landed, the sturdiest Faun and King Peter reached for the Queens, gently landing them on their feet. Leo and Por jumped down, Por with a quiet snort for the two-legged creatures' lack of balance.

The two Calormenes were eyeing the Narnians warily, but Peter nodded to a still-sleeping Uvayeth, and they remained where he had commanded.

At that moment swift footsteps, coming from the mountain's side, reached Peter's ears. "In the cave!" he hissed. "Dwarves in front, then Queens, Fauns watch the rear! You and you, pull Uvayeth inside, but do not untie him!" He waited till the soldiers and his sisters were inside, the Dwarves leaning against the rocky sides in which they were so at home, bows bent and arrows strung. Peter stood with the ones on the far wall, waiting, waiting, as the footsteps—several sets, a troop was coming, but Narnian or kidnappers?—grew louder.

A rhythmic marching; soldiers, most likely, and the Calormenes hadn't come, but still-

A screech from overhead; Peter looked up. The Hawk was circling again, and Peter ducked outside, echoing the call. Once again the Bird dived for his arm, settling there just as two, five, no, seven Great Cats bounded into sight, the first heralds of the approaching group.

"We took a winding path so it would appear we joined the other two portions, King Peter. I've delivered yours commands to the other two groups, and your brother-" the Hawk paused, his feathers ruffling and falling nervously. "Your brother commanded me to tell you that if you injured yourself any more in a battle where you've sworn not to fight he's sending on you a delegation to Archenland for a month to keep you out of trouble. Since Prince Corin causes all the trouble their land needs. Sir."

Peter laughed out loud, and he heard the silver laughs of his sisters join his. "Well delivered, good cousin. Fear not! I am not quite so foolish as to join a battle when I may not bear a sword. These be the soldiers that were sent?" He turned, and his face lit up. He strode forward, transferring the Hawk to his shoulder so he could hold both hands out to the ageing lord. "Lord Jarrick,* the sight of you is most welcome. I had thought you had forsaken all essaying to war!"

The common-sense man shrugged his shoulders. "That was before our High King got himself captured; there's no man or beast in Narnia who wouldn't head the call to war then. It's good to see you, High King Peter." He clasped Peter's hands in return, holding them firmly in his rough-callused palms, squeezing them once firmly and then releasing them. He bowed and gestured at the soldiers behind him. "We are yours to command, High King. I hear you lead us to take these rascals by surprise?"

"Yes, and at once," Peter agreed. "Dogs to the front! Are there Dogs?" Three came bounding forward, brown and black ears pricked, eyes bright, and tails wagging. "I know not the way to the entrances, only to the main cavern. Once there—silently!—use your senses to lead us to where the men lay armed. Soldiers first, archers behind. Archers!" he said, turning to those still inside the cave mouth. "There were yet some villains sleeping when we came out. Divide yourselves, half to fire at the front, half behind, lest we ourselves be surprised. Queens, you know your station. Leo, Por, at their sides at all times. Gruffkiln, take a soldier and watch our captive with these Calormene guards; his hand is in this kidnapping. Bring him with us, but after the soldiers. In the name of Aslan—we go!"

He led the way, feet swift, and three of the Cats bounding beside him. He was grimly grateful for their presence; his own helplessness still irked him. But now—at last—this evil would be ended.

Past the turn, into the dimly lit torches, the heavy breathing of Dog, Dwarf, and the quiet breathes of Cat and Faun filling his ears. He might be helpless—his companions were not.

Farther, farther, light once again red and dim—and beside him, the Cats' fur began bristling. He slowed; now he could hear it, noises, grumpy and shouting, from ahead. Farther, farther, then the opening he sought, slipping through it and to the side, seeing three men, and two there, arguing far in the cavernous room. His troops spilled out behind him, and then the soft _twang_ he'd heard so often before, echoed several times. All five men fell, arrows in their chests. A pause; Peter looked to the Cats, trusting their vision in the dark.

"No more here, my King," and he nodded, turning to the rest.

"Dogs, to your work," he offered softly.

A low growl, and sniffing, then the three ran in varying directions, each arriving at different doors. As they arrived at each they stood, silhouetted, nose to the floor to catch the scents. Another low growl, "Food!" as a short yip, and the smallest one, with the shortest fur, dashed off to the next door. The other two were not far behind.

From one door to the next, to the next, to the next, till the oldest turned excitedly, his long ears flapping at his speed. "Here, here, I can smell them!" he yipped, and the soldiers marched forward. Peter fell in with the Queens, for his oath at least allowed him to attack any man who dared harm _them_. Were it not for the danger to his sisters, he'd wish someone to try it.

"Quiet!" Jarrick commanded; he'd taken the lead once more. "Cats to the front, ready to jump them from behind; but wait first. Archers, you shoot first, and see how many you can reduce; as soon as the volley is away, Cats attack. We'll see how long they'll last, fighting at both ends!"

The passage they entered was short, the white light falling on them within a few strides. The opening was barricaded, though, wooden beams walling it and braced from behind till just below a man's height. The kidnappers were behind the wall, jeering at the Narnian soldiers on the other side. The archers entering had arrows already strung; they swiftly took their stance. Jarrick halted and crouched, the soldiers behind him crouching as well, the Cats tensing to spring, and then with a _twang_ the arrows were released, seven of the fifteen men going down with cries of pain and three more immediately falling to the claws of the snarling Cats. The remaining five turned, jeers turning to cries of panic, only to be met by the swords of the remaining soldiers. Two of the kidnappers surrendered; the other three met their end in seconds.

"Is that the High King?" questioned a sharp voice outside, and Peter caught his breath.

"Edmund!"

"Peter!" A scraping noise from the outside, as the King tried to get through the barricade, and Peter ran forward, motioning for help to remove it. Before they could begin, however, Edmund's face appeared over the top, followed by his mail-clad waist, and then he was swinging one leg over. He swung the other over and dropped, already reaching for his brother. Peter hugged him, feeling the chain-mail on his shoulders, the sturdy strength of Narnian's Judge, and felt the last of his tension leave. Edmund pushed back a moment later. "You are unhurt?" Peter nodded, but Edmund eyed him anyway. "I'll take not your word for it, brother, but those of Narnia's healers, once the battle is over. Be our sisters with you?" he added anxiously. "Our good cousin Patterfeet saw them hurrying over the mountain—did you fin-"

"We're here, Edmund!" chorused the Queens, also pushing forward, and Peter reached out to hold them all, the Four joining in a longer, sweeter hug.

"And Peter is all right," Lucy assured Edmund, her voice coming from somewhere below Peter's face. "We watched him through the caves, and truly he moves with the quick feet of a soldier, and the freedom of the well!"

"Though I think a visit to the healers would be well, if only as punishment for the worry he has caused. What does the Just Judge think?" Susan asked.

"I think it were a fitting punishment and a wise one," Edmund agreed. "Will you let me go now?"

The Four laughed, and turned to the matters around them. Jarrick stood supervising the binding of the two prisoners, putting them with Uvayeth in the back, and assigning them more guards. Peridan and the remaining soldiers outside had just finished watching the Dwarves hack through the barricade. Together they threw the pieces to the side.

"You are yet bound not to fight?" Edmund asked Peter quietly.

"Unless harm threaten Susan," Peter responded, also softly.

"Then our sisters' well-being to you, and the enemy to me?" Peter grimaced. He would prefer to fight Dagguer himself, but what he preferred was foolishness. He nodded, and the Just King grinned, his eyes and teeth glittering in the light. "It is well, my brother, for a heavy reckoning awaits him. I have much enjoyed the thought of all I might do to such a man."

"Then take this into account in your reckoning." At Peter's tone the Queens also turned, and Edmund gave Peter his full attention. "His trade is the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, to a set of giants yet unknown, in a castle called Harfang." He paused, for truly this still sickened him, but hiding the truth, even from his sisters, did no one favours. "They buy our kind that they might make pies of us and eat us." Lucy and Susan drew in shocked breaths, and Edmund's grin dropped away to a look harder than the rocks around them.

"He knew of this as he traded them?" he asked quietly.

"He told me of it himself. Patterfeet did not tell you?" Edmund shook his head.

"We did not give him time."

"And the Narnians he kidnapped—are they still here?" Lucy whispered, heart-breaking sorrow in her tone. Peter shook his head, unable to look her in the eyes. This was all their failure.

"A reckoning indeed," Edmund said, his tone implacable and stern. Peter felt his brother's gloved fingers clench around his arm, and he looked over at his brother. "Did he mean this to be _your_ fate?"

"Only if Uvayeth did not produce his fifteen slaves to take my place." Edmund grasped him more tightly, and Peter held his gaze a moment. "You came in time, my brother."

"And I give most heart-felt thanks to Aslan for that," Edmund sighed, his hand unclenching. "Stay with our sisters, would you? I do not like to have you away from us yet." He turned away before Peter could reply, already issuing orders, sending a few soldiers back to the beach to secure it, another six to take the prisoners along with them, and then, with Peridan beside him and the Dogs before him, heading back to the cavern down the cave.

_One more large group left_, Peter thought. _One more group of evil-doers to punish for the harm they have wrought. _

_And Dagguer must be with them._

OOOOO

*Introduced in _A Turtle's Tale_.

**Response to Anonymousme: I'm really glad it ended well. I'm guessing this one not quite so much? :) I did at least include the reunion for all three siblings! But the fight with Dagguer is the climax, so I wanted it to have its own chapter; plus, this chapter was five pages long already and I didn't want to be up till midnight writing it since I'd promised to get groceries for my mother and Aldis isn't open that late. But I'm sorry all the same. Thank you for catching both of those typos! They've been fixed; they always bug me if I go back and reread the story months later, but it's almost always on my phone where I can't fix them, so I really appreciate getting the chance to fix them beforehand. We live without fiction (or updates to our fiction), but it's a little less pleasant. I've been waiting for the sixth book of _The Thief_ series ever since a couple days after the fifth one came out (after I finished reading it), and it was to come out 2019, but something happened (we haven't been told what), and it's delayed indefinitely. As a writer I understand how that can happen; as a reader, I scowl at the need for ****patience! And by the way-I'm glad you liked Patterfeet, I know he wasn't in this chapter, but he will be in the next one!**


	14. Confronting a Madman

**Disclaimer: The only thing I can claim in this story is the psychopath. Lucky me.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17—thank you!**

OOOOO

Edmund had led charges before, and Peter knew his brother's skill. Peter felt only pride as his brother led, the soldiers falling in behind, and Edmund continued cautious but relentless. He did not envy Dagguer's reckoning.

But nor did he feel sorry for the madman. Narnian soldiers might die. Narnians, innocent ones, _had _died.

_But not after today_.

Edmund paused at the cavern, sending in the Cats to scout with a few quiet words. They came back before Peter drew two breaths, signaling all was clear with quick nods. Again the Narnians entered the cavern—though there are more of them this time than last—and again the Dogs took the lead, rushing from door to door, sniffing, yelping quietly, and whining impatiently at each false lead. Peter stole up to where Edmund waited and indicated the door to the sleeping chambers.

"Some of our enemies rested therein." Together the Kings sent soldiers down that carved corridor and waited on their return. The Dogs found a promising corridor in the meantime, but the Kings waited till the group returned, disappointingly empty-handed.

"The covers were thrown on the floor, the beds unmade," a Dwarf reported. "I'd say they were summoned to the fight, Your Majesties, and as they didn't come to our entrance, they'll be at the last."

"Then we have a battle at last." Edmund's eyes were bright with that furious justice.

Peter too felt the itch to punish the band, for the Narnians who perished, for the threats against his Kingdom, and for Susan's bleeding neck and her tears when Dagguer took him. The memory of that blade cutting her skin still made his anger rise.

He despised the binding of his oath with all his warrior's might in that moment.

"Archers to the rear, Cats and Dogs to the front, Fauns on the left, Dwarves to the right. Aslan send us victory, and justice to our enemies." Edmund's whispered command brought him back to the present moment, and the High King returned again to his sisters, following the archers into the largest passageway he'd yet entered. This was what was allowed him. This, then, is what he must do well.

Whatever else he might wish to do.

Longer and longer, and though the Narnians tried to be quiet, the passage of a large group must be marked by some sound. Dagguer was smarter than his followers, posting lookouts inside the cave. A man yelled an alarm, and though he fell a moment later with the Gentle Queen's arrow in his throat, the alarm was passed in other voices, and pounding footsteps drowned out the tiptoeing Narnians. The soldiers in front responded instantly, the Dwarves at the front forming a shield wall, strong arms locked around each other. A moment later the Cats stood just behind, crouched to spring, mixing with the Fauns, and Edmund and Jarrick, who were tall enough to thrust over the shields. Ten archers sped past Peter and his sisters, turning to guard the rear, just in case, and the rest set arrows to string. A pause; the footsteps in the front coming closer, and then the Dwarves began to march. Sturdy, stubborn bodies, shields walled in front, inexorably moving onward. _Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud_. The footsteps of the Sons of Earth led the way.

The shouts of men grew louder, and members of the band appeared around the curve, stumbling back and into their fellow soldiers at the sight of the soldiers in front of them. But their shock left anger behind, and with shouts that echoed in the cave till the words could not be heard, the men raised their swords and fell on the Narnians.

Around Peter the _twang_ of bowstrings rang over and over, and the men at the back began falling, the arrows invisible in the flickering light till they hit. Peter raked his eyes over the front, grasping his sword, pulling it out, helplessly holding it. Bound by his word, how he hated this! Two Dwarves fell, and two Fauns from behind took their place, thrusting their own shields forward, but a few men had made it through the gap; Edmund fought one, winning, two Fauns another, Jarrick—

Jarrick was losing, aging carpenter's hands shaking under the stress of the blows. Peter stepped forward, halted, took another step—and a Cat came to the rescue, pushing the man to the floor by leaping on his shoulders, and killing him there.

The shield wall still pressed forward, forward. They were almost to the curve in the passage now. Two archers had picked up the Dwarves; one fumbling for bandages for a deep cut in his shield arm, the other—

Lucy was going to the other, her cordial already in her hand.* Peter stayed, letting the soldiers push ahead. There were but ten archers behind, and he would not leave Lucy with just that, not with her own attention fixed on healing. A smell reached him, wild and delicious,** and he inhaled. He was ever thankful for that precious gift. A moment later the Dwarf was on his feet, bowing deeply to Valiant Queen.

"Think you that you can bear a shield now?" her merry voice asked, and the Dwarf grinned toothily, fitting his shield back onto his arm.

"The battle waits," Peter reminded them, and she turned at once. "Stay with the other wounded," he bid the Dwarf and the archer who had carried him, and then their Majesties moved forward, the ten archers just behind. They hurried around the curve, blinking as light struck them at once, Peter throwing his arm out to keep his sister behind him.

The mouth of the cave was just ahead, and it must have taken the Narnians by surprise, dissolving their shield wall. The space was too big. Narnians he had not seen, led by Lord Peridan—the third group—fought with the group he'd come with.

But they fought a legion.

Dagguer had far more men then he'd ever let Peter see. To the left, right before the ground dropped into a cliff, Peridan and a group of Fauns fought a ship's-worth of men in Galman dress; Edmund and the Dwarves of the shield wall were fighting at least fifteen men, swords flashing. The Dogs, Cats, a Squirrel—Patterfeet?—four Badgers, and a few Mice fought in groups, stepping over the bodies, Narnian and other. Susan, where was Susan? Side to side on the narrow strip of land in front of the opening, Peter could not see her. Surely she wasn't one of those on the ground! Edmund wouldn't let her—

A small hand tugged his arm, and Lucy gestured to the side of the mountain. Peter breathed out; Susan had climbed, set her feet, and was shooting arrow after arrow, not bothering to watch as man after man fell. Leo stood by her side, snarling at any who dared approach, while Por bounded forward and back, snatching arrows from the ground or in bodies and bringing them back to Narnia's archer. The other archers had followed their Queen, standing on the side of the mountain to Peter's right and shooting when they could.

Peter pushed Lucy behind him and to the side of the cave, rock behind her and himself in front. Sword in hand he stood, weighing the battle as he kept the youngest safe.

Edmund reformed the shield wall as a circle, his commands cutting through the battle. His sword swung right and left, clearing a path, dealing quick death over and over to those who'd dared to rise against his brother. He and his group marched, forward, backward, cutting down enemies and rescuing Narnians under siege. A Hawk circled around them, diving to help the King whenever his foes grew thick. Around the King the shield wall pushed the kidnappers out, away from the cave, no one was close—how could Peter help?

And where was Dagguer?

A man stumbled back towards them, arm bleeding, snarling, eyes locked on Lucy, and Peter raised his sword. Block, thrust up, swing, another block, and _thrust_, and the man was down. Two more came behind them, and Peter fought them as well, dancing, parrying, keeping them well away from Lucy, waiting till they started for her as the weaker prize and then cutting them down. A glance up; the battlefield still in play, but the Narnians were fighting back to back, in groups, pushing their enemy out where the archers could reach them. It was working. There were less than twenty left now, and still men fell to the arrows; those turning towards the archers to attack them were falling to the blades behind them. Lucy would be aching to join her sister and the others, and Peter, with a last glance outward, turned—

And saw Dagguer lunging from their left, jumping down from his place on the mountain, by passing the Queen without a glance. He had his sword pointed at Peter's throat before his feet were under him, and he glared, panting. "Your oath still holds," he snarled.

It did, and Peter swallowed, lowering his own sword. They were so close—

Lucy moved, her own dagger unsheathed raised to strike, but Dagguer sidestepped, still not attacking her, and forced Peter back. "You strike me and your brother dies." His easy tone was gone, his grin, all of it. His eyes were fully mad now, and Lucy froze, lowering her weapon.

"Cease!" Dagguer bellowed suddenly, and Peter caught himself before flinching. Dagguer was spitting as he roared, eyes still fixed on Peter, fury and madness rife. "Cease! I have the High King!"

Peter didn't move. Behind him he could hear the sound of sword on sword, metal on shield, and the hiss of arrows all falling silent.

"Shoot me and he dies," Dagguer said more calmly, eyes flicking up the mountain and then back down. He moved closer, till Peter's body shielded him. His sword rested against Peter's throat.

"What do you mean to do? Look around you!" It was Edmund's voice, as cutting as his sword had been moments before. "But for twelve men, your fighters are dead. Your home and haven is discovered. We sank the two ships near the shore; Rabadash discovered the third. You have no refuge, no army, and no fleet."

"You're lying." Dagguer glanced from one side to the other, Lucy to the Narnians behind Peter, up the mountainside to the archers. "You're lying. You're lying. You have to be lying. I'll prove you're lying!" He began edging towards the cliff edge, pressing Peter's throat to move the High King with him, still keeping Peter between himself and the archers.

"Let him," said Edmund's voice quietly. Not to Dagguer; to the soldiers. "He has nowhere to go." Step by slow step, the two moved. Behind them footsteps moved with them, some heavy, some light. The Narnians weren't letting their High King get far. Peter kept his eyes on Dagguer's hand, clenched around the hilt. The instant it wavered, Peter would throw himself back and roll.

It didn't waver. It started to shake, the point cutting small lines in Peter's skin. Peter looked up; Dagguer stood at the very edge, staring at the shore line far to their right, his face now pale.

"No," he mumbled. "No, I have the gold, I can buy more, I can-"

"You can't." Edmund's voice was closer; he must be moving while he thought Dagguer was distracted. "Your gold is gone too. Your men, your ships, your home, your gold—you have lost everything. Spare the High King and you will keep your life. It is the only thing you have left to lose."

"No!" Dagguer screamed, and Edmund cut himself off. "No! No! No!"

_Oh Edmund_, Peter thought. _You can't see his face from where you stand. I wish I'd taken time to warn you of the madness of this man. _The sword-tip was pressing in now, and Peter opened his mouth, trying to breathe without choking on metal. His ears still rang as Dagguer continued to scream.

"I haven't lost! I adapt, I think it through, I see people, _I always win!_ I haven't lost! I'll-" he broke off abruptly. Peter looked back to his face, seeing the madness give way to cunning. "I'll rebuild it. Yes. Yes. Not mice—courage. And love," Dagguer muttered, eyes again flickering behind Peter, glancing up, above his head. Peter froze, dreading the outcome of what Dagguer was thinking. "Too right, Your Majesty, I've lost everything. I can't have that now, can I? But I'm a business man, I am. Now, I've your High King, and I think you want him back. Tashbaan won't pay for him anyway, and he's the most important, more important than anyone else. What would you give for him, King of Narnia?"

"You wish for gold?" Edmund's tone was wary but polite; an opening gambit.

"What good would that do me now? I've no way to get it and myself away from Narnia."

"A gold and a ship, then?"

"Well, that's right kind of you, but this is the High King, ain't it? It's worth more than that! More than any other life here, am I right?"

A bargaining stall in the market, Peter thought irrelevantly. Of such were made the courts of kings.

"You wish another life?" Edmund asked quietly. "You may have mine, if you require it." Peter stiffened, but knew better than to argue, trusting his brother. Before any agreement could be made, they had to draw Dagguer into the bargaining so completely the madness vanished. And now that Edmund knew it was there, he was trying.

And succeeding. But Peter did not find the cunning any more comforting than the madness. Because Dagguer was quiet, pretending to consider it—to consider taking Edmund's freedom. And possibly his life.

"Nooooo," Dagguer pondered. "I don't think that's rightly what I'm asking. See, I keep my ears open, I do, and we had this Calormene here, Uvayeth, his name was, and he liked to talk. And he liked to talk about you Four, Your Majesty, and one of the things he said was how much Rabadash liked that beautiful Queen up there. Now, if the future Tisroc likes her, and the old Tisroc dies soon, why, she'd be worth a king's ransom! So here's my bargain, Kings of Narnia. You give me and my men that ship, and the Queen there agrees to come with us, quiet-like, and we'll treat her right, and not touch a hair on her head, and when the old Tisroc dies, she'll be the new one's wife.*** See? Narnia wins, she wins, Calormen wins, and I win, and everyone's happ—"

"Silence." Edmund's voice was wintry cold and closer than ever. "You know not what you ask." Peter stood, trying desperately to rein in his _rage_ at the mention of Susan sold—sold, a _slave_—to the Prince who'd hunted her, hurt her spirit, and threatened to drag her from Narnia by her hair. He pushed himself forward, ready to throw Dagguer off balance, but a hand caught his shoulder and held him back. He swallowed, calming. He would not make Edmund's task harder; it must be hard enough, to be caught between as a man demanded he make a choice between two of his siblings.

"Edmund," said a quiet, unsure voice, and Dagguer's eyes flicked greedily upwards again.

"No." Peter cut her off.

"If it saves you, Peter—would it not be worth it? This began with my wayward heart-"

"How much, think you, the new Tisroc will offer you for my sister?" Edmund asked, talking over his sister. "Do you not think Narnia can offer as much? Now, for the life you already have at the end of your sword?"

Dagguer tilted his head, considering Peter, raking him over with his eyes. Regretfully, he shook his head. "Now, that wouldn't be proper business dealings, would it? That's a ransom demand, that is, and I'd be labeled as a pirate, and then Galma wouldn't welcome me back. No, a proper exchange is better, it is."

_Madman_. Peter grimaced. A sword at the High King's throat, and Dagguer still clung to his insane illusion of being a business man. Perhaps that was how he lived with himself.

He would not live if he touched a hair of Susan's head again, Peter swore silently. Dagguer did not know his peril, for he'd looked up at the Gentle Queen and begun wheedling. "Now, Your Majesty, you heard your brother's oath." Peter clenched, sick to his stomach. He knew what Susan would say, what she would do. And he could not let this happen, any more than Edmund could. There had to be a way out; he could not bear to see the same events play over again, their roles reversed. For Dagguer continued, "I say we'd need another like it. So, here's what I want—"

"No!" It was a high, shrill scream, Peter's thoughts in a higher key, and then a warm, light weight hit his shoulder. The next moment Patterfeet gathered himself and sprang again, forward, past the length of the sword and onto Dagguer's face, scratching and screaming, "Not again! No! You don't _touch_ them!"

Dagguer dropped the sword, hands rising to hit the Squirrel on his face as he stepped backwards to get away—and stepped right off the cliff. Peter lunged forward, reaching, already knowing Edmund would catch him if he lost his balance, but he was too late, and his hand clenched empty air as the man and Squirrel fell, off the cliff, Dagguer screaming, Patterfeet yelling back at the man he kept beneath his claws, falling until they hit the water.

"Patterfeet!" Edmund's hand still clutched his shoulder, and the High King stood on the cliff. Patterfeet. The Squirrel who followed him here, brought his rescuers, handed him keys, and served him water. It was not the first time a Narnian had given their lives for him, but it hurt every time. He turned, and Edmund was there, and he hugged his brother and held him close without a word, grieving together.

For a few minutes. But twelve men still stood, by Edmund's count, and Narnians were wounded. Later was the time to grieve, and Peter took his sorrow, shoved it backwards, and straightened. Together the brothers walked away from the edge, and Peter tried not to glance back. Lucy was already kneeling by the wounded, and there were Wolves at her side. Peridan had men collecting weapons and having surrendered captives sit down; Jarrick was putting Narnians to work binding up the enemy wounded. Peter wiped his sword, sheathed it, and went to take his place in the aftermath. His oath was finished, his captivity ended, and he'd been given a task to do.

Later, with his family, he would talk about what had happened, what was lost, and what would happen next.

OOOOO

*I am aware she was not to carry this "commonly to the wars," but I could also see the three siblings looking at each other, knowing Peter might need it when they found him, and unanimously agreeing for her to bring it.  
**Ok, I'm going mad here. I could have sworn there was a description somewhere in the books of the cordial's distinct smell, but the closest I could find was in VOTD when she cures Eustace of his seasickness and it just says the smell was delicious. Does anyone remember something in the book like that?  
***This idea came up during a conversation (on a completely different subject, because my mind likes to jump tracks at inconvenient times) with ScribeofHeroes, and this is giving credit for inspiration where credit is due. :)

**Response to Anonymousme: I have not read the story you mentioned in the review on "Sometimes It Hurts," but I like to see if I can find things, and based on your description, it might be "Masks" by Feste the Fool. Again, I have not read that story, but it might be the one you're looking for? Can you let me know if it is, please? Written 2009-2010, so yes, it was old. :) Hopefully this chapter was climatic enough? Healer, Queen, Kings, fighting, and Patterfeet (poor thing)...I tried to include everything without crowding it. The next chapter will be the last, tying up loose ends. I'm kind of curious, I've never heard "how under the canopy," but I like it - is that family saying, or a familiar one I've just never heard? Aldi is a grocery store that sells overstocked items from other stories, so you can't be guaranteed to find anything, but it's much, much cheaper. _The Thief_ series follows the story of...you know what, I typed out a large paragraph and realised to write it spoils the entire first book. The main character is assigned to steal a stone that (legend has it) gives immortality; it has at least great symbolic power, and one of three kingdoms on a small island takes the Thief from prison to get his help stealing it for their king. It's set in a time very similar to our Medes and Persians empire in the past. The first book is one where you read the ending, looking up, say "WHAT?" and go back and reread it and realise it was forshadowed all along. The third book is one I've almost memorised. But I can't tell you anything about it without spoiling the first one, so sorry!**


	15. Not My Fault

**Disclaimer: The last chapter! It's been an experiment and a struggle from start to finish and I dare not claim it as my own.**

**Beta'd by trustingHim17, and I'd like to take the last chapter to say thank you for the help with old/high English, grammatical concerns, and just nice general conversation. :)**

**A/N: to the lovely people who leave reviews, I wanted to let you know my life entered a period of utter turmoil this past Saturday, and I don't know when this trial is ending. Until it does, I will be spending less time online and more time with my family as we struggle through this, so though I will read your reviews with delight, I may not respond. I'm sorry. I do have this chapter and the next four weeks already written, so I will probably keep posting on Tuesdays, but will not be responding as those aren't pre-written. Again, I am sorry. **

OOOOO

The aftermath at the top of the cliff took perhaps an hour to organize. Several of the Narnians were wounded badly enough they would need help, but not so much they needed the cordial, and they were the Four's first concern. Once they had been tended, and taken down the steep path to the shore and onto the one remaining ship, the Four turned to the captives.

"Your task will linger long after ours is done, my brother," Susan said to Edmund. She stood at the center of her siblings, neither brother ready to let her go far yet.

"I thank you for recognizing it. Yes, the trials will be tedious, and the sentencing hard. Though evidence abounds, which will make the trials clear. I wish, though, I had Dagguer before me. He deserved justice falling on his head."

"I think he was served it, for he lost all he cared for the moments before his death," Peter put in grimly, watching the twelve get to their feet and begin to file down the path under guard. "And do not worry, my brother. There is still one villain awaiting trial before the Just King, and one you asked for not weeks earlier, too," Peter remembered wryly as he clasped Edmund on the shoulder. Edmund looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Have you forgotten so soon you wished to claim Uvayeth as your own?"

"And my elder brother and High King reminded me I had Rabadash at my mercy. I like my handling better than yours, I think. _I_ did not cause my siblings days of worry just to bring the villain's goals to nothing." Though he grinned, his eyes were alert, searching Peter's.

Reading Peter's mood, the High King realized. Whatever Peter would have retorted—though truth be told, he was not sure he was up for jesting yet—was quieted by the arrival of their Scout, diving once again from the air, and landing on Lucy's wrist.

"Your Majesties, I bring urgent news." Peter straightened, ready once again to take the weight on himself, but inside, he wished it had not come so soon. He was so _tired_. But he did not let that show.

"What news?"

"As the first captives, the bound Calormene lord and two men, approached the ship, the sounds of battle rang from the mountain. The guards were distracted, and the two who lived in the caves spoke in undertone to the two from Calormen. What they said, I do not know, for I was flying high, and only saw. But the two Calormene cut the bonds of the men, and the four fought their guards. One of the men from the caves was killed, but the two Calormene escaped with the other, dragging the bound lord."

Peter closed his eyes. Uvayeth was a continuing headache. "Think you they will head for Tashbaan?" he asked his consorts.

"And be received as failures? No, they would fly, knowing they are welcome neither in Narnia nor in Calormen." Edmund turned to the Hawk. "In which direction did they turn their steps?"

"They went further north, Just King," the Hawk said, bowing. Edmund paused.

"Did they untie the Calormene lord?" he asked, something going on behind his sharp eyes. The Hawk shook his head.

"What do you see that we do not, my brother?" Lucy asked quietly. Edmund blinked.

"I think, my sister, that they agreed to help Uvayeth out of greed. I think on the beach the kidnappers offered to take them where Uvayeth could be a source of gold, in exchange for their freedom, and the guards took it. If their greed in the hoarded goods indicates their hearts, they will head for north, to a city we do not yet know—where giants pay for the Sons of Adam."*

Susan and Lucy gasped, and Peter's lips pressed together. "Is your thought that we should pursue them?" Uvayeth was evil, saved from doing too much harm only by his arrogance; but if this was his fate, it was not one Peter would wish on anyone. But that was his opinion as a warrior. He waited to hear the Judge.

Edmund's eyes were hard and his face implacable. "If he were brought to Narnia, We would judge him. As it stands, he brought his end upon himself. His own men have judged him, and they carry him to the giants." Edmund's eyes came back to Peter, piercing as they viewed him. Peter gravely waited their judgement, trusting it. "As your men have judged you, and gave their lives to bring you home," Edmund said softly. "As would have I."

"And I," Susan added, her hand slipping into Peter's, Lucy's doing the same on the other side.

"And I," Lucy finished. "And as Patterfeet did." Peter smiled, though he knew it showed pain. "I will go with you, my King, when you break the news of his death to his kin."

"Come, let us to our ship, that we may sail home, and mourn there," Susan directed. The Four walked to the path, the Kings offering their sisters their hands down the steep parts, and the girls slinging their bows over their shoulders and accepting the offered help. The descent was hazardous—Peter wondered how he'd been taken up the cliff and was glad he had been unconscious—and they were glad to arrive at the beach and find their soldiers waiting there.

"The ship is ready to sail, Your Majesties," a Marshwiggle said, coming forward to meet them. "The tide won't be going out long, I should think."

"Thank you, Dourfog," Susan replied, gently but effectively cutting off any gloomy predictions. "We will sail soon?" she asked of her siblings, and they nodded.

"A moment first," Peter requested, turning from his siblings towards the shore. He walked to the edge of the water, looking towards the cliff outside the cove where Patterfeet had fallen. "Goodbye, and may I see you again in Aslan's country," he said softly.

He was turning away when his eye caught on something brown. A bit of wood, he thought, turning away. Probably from the sunken ships. But he turned back again a moment later, for he thought he'd heard something calling from it. He strained his eyes, looking—and then started running forward, splashing in the water, ankle keep, knee deep, waist deep, reaching for the board (indeed part of the wrecked ships) and the Squirrel desperately clinging to it.

"Patterfeet!" he exclaimed, scooping up the shivering body and holding it close.

"I'm c-c-cold, sir," the Squirrel said through chattering teeth. "But I swam to a b-b-board I saw.** A-and I didn't know where to g-go, but Aslan, Aslan came, and pushed the b-board towards shore, and He sa-said I'd done we-we-well." Peter, taking off his shirt and wrapping the Squirrel in it, paused.

"Aslan always tells the truth, young page," the High King said gravely. "You have, indeed, done very well." He cradled the Squirrel, wrapped all about in the rich tunic except for the tiny face. "And I am so very glad that He kept you alive." He turned back towards the shore, only to see his siblings and several other Narnians already splashing the water, coming towards him at high speeds. Peter broke into a gentle run, careful not to jostle the Narnian he held

"It's Patterfeet!" he told his siblings. "Aslan kept him alive."

"The poor thing," Lucy said. "Does he need my cordial?"

Peter looked down, but the Squirrel shook his mummified head. "I'm quite warm now, Queen Lucy, but thank you, and maybe one day I'll get to try it, because the soldiers say it tastes wonderful, absolutely wonderful, though they don't like getting hurt bad enough to need it."

"Try not to need it, young Patterfeet," Peter grinned, relieved beyond measure to hear the Squirrel talking so much again. "I think he is fine, fair consort.*** But he could use such kind soothing as the Gentle Queen could provide, along with the wounded, as we are on our way home?" He looked towards his other sister.

"It will be my honor to care for the one who saved your life, and my freedom," Susan said, touching Patterfeet's head gently. The Squirrel's eyes got very big.

"I saved your life, sir?"

"You did indeed."

"Oh." Patterfeet seemed to be pondering this as Peter and the others turned back to shore, their clothing now quite wet. It was not till they had gone from the small boat to the ship that the Squirrel spoke again.

"King Peter, sir?" Peter looked down. "Do you think you could tell General Oreius I did a good job keeping you safe?"

* * *

Peter did, of course, tell both Oreius and Patterfeet's family what an excellent job the Squirrel had done. They also honored him, and the other heroes of the battles, in a feast held a few nights after they returned. Peter had thoroughly enjoyed it. The laughter, the colors, the foods, the purrs and caws and cacophony of sound spoke to him over and over, telling him he was home. Home and free.

And Susan was there, free of the weight she had borne for weeks, despite the continued presence of two of their guests. She was swaying with the Dryads as she spoke to them, her long hair shining in the light of Narnia's stars. Lucy, Rena by her side, was listening to a family of Squirrels—Patterfeet's family, Peter realised, seeing the page foremost among them—as about four of them talked at once. Rena was rolling her eyes, but Lucy was smiling. Edmund was watching from one of the walls, and his eyes met Peter's, grinning as he indicated their sisters with a nod of his head. Narnia, its rulers, and its people were safe.

Ikelken and Aikaden attended the banquet also. Their presence reminded Peter of one more thing to be attended to; or rather, two things to be attended to. Lamash, who may or may not be prisoner in Tashbaan, and the treaty with Calormen. As the evening went on Peter caught Ikelken stealing glances at him. He guessed the Tarkaan wished to resolve his task as much as Peter did, and Peter hoped to enlist his aid to find Lamash's whereabouts. Lamash _had _been free enough to send word to Edmund that the ship of slaves would not be coming.

Still. His help was a debt left unpaid, and it itched the High King's conscience. He therefore waited willingly and patiently as the banquet wound down, Narnians sleepily smiling and returning to their beds and burrows. His three siblings saw the guests off, walking group after group to the doors or the stairs, but Peter remained in the hall. As the last Narnian yawned their way through the Great Hall's doors, the two Calormenes approached and bowed.

"We thank you for the generosity and wisdom that shines like the light of the stars, O Barbarian King, and bid you a deep and quiet sleep," Aikaden said after a moment. He looked at Ikelken, confused; it was the older man's place to speak first.

"Of your courtesy and because of your tiredness, O my companion, leave me alone to speak with this King, since you have given your most courteous thanks." Ikelken did not look away from Peter, though his tone to his companion was kind.

Aikaden bowed low, his turban level with Peter's chest, and straightened. Susan met him at the door, a kind smile on her lips, and a pause where she checked with her brother. Peter smiled reassuringly, and she allowed Aikaden to take her arm before she shut the Great Hall's doors.

"You do not call me Barbarian," Peter observed after a moment. Ikelken looked weary and unsure.

"I can no longer call you that, High King of Narnia." The Calormene sighed, his dark eyes staring into space. "When you were gone, O King, and at our hands, I expected to be placed in your dungeons, with your fearsome half-horse general overseeing our punishment. Uvayeth cared nothing for the three of his own kind he left behind, who he would have ruled! Well the poets have said that ambition burns like a star that cannot be put out; but he would have left the rest of us in darkness and without light. And he the nephew of the Tisroc (may he live forever), and one who had some little right to the honor and glory of that throne! It has made me wonder, O King, though I hardly dare say it, how much glory that throne has." Ikelken's gaze moved back to Peter, brows furrowed. "But as I was thinking these things, King of Narnia, your brother came to us, his face like that of a warrior of the gods. He questioned us one by one, and, I think, saw our hearts." The Calormene looked away again, his hands moving restlessly around the scroll he held. "The poets have said—many things. It is not an easy thing to be revealed to one's enemies. I am sure they have said so, somewhere, only as a tradesman I never learned it. But after we were known to him, revealed innocent to a Judge who must surely judge for Tash himself, he told us what had happened, that one of the ones you ruled had followed you and stayed with you, because of the love he bore you. That Uvayeth had taken you to be broken in the temple of Tash, and you, O King, because of your oath, stayed and waited for rescue, dependent on the love of your people. The love of your brother, burning before us, the love of a page, who followed you over land and sea, and the love of your warriors, who rose to do battle at the first word of your plight and your sorrows, O King." Ikelken looked back to Peter again. "There is glory and honor in a throne such as that, and in such a King," he said quietly. He unclasped his hand from around the scroll and offered it to Peter. "I was entrusted and sent on my way with this treaty, O King, unaware of the deceit behind it. But what was offered in trickery should stand, O honored one, to the harm of those who sent it. The poets have said to train a dog to bite is to invite pain, and such shall this treaty be. Our ship departs tomorrow; if tonight you decide and declare to sign it, I shall take it to Tashbaan and see it shall hold. I swear on my honor and by my name, I shall do all I can to make it stand."

Peter looked at the scroll, gently taking it from the old man's hand. "I shall sign it and it shall be sent tomorrow," he agreed gravely. "But I would ask of you this, Ikelken. You are a man of honor yourself. Do you still desire to serve a throne which has no knowledge of such things?" He waited, but the Calormene only took a shuddering breath in and did not answer. "Narnia would welcome you," he added gently.

Ikelken smiled, a painful, wistful smile. "To reside at your court, High King? And all my family? Calormenes, in the court of a one so dearly loved and sought, after Calormenes kidnapped him and imprisoned him?"

"Yes."

Ikelken shook his head. "I think you ask too much of your people. As the poets have said, kindnesses are not remembered, but all remember their injuries."

"Allow me to know my own people." Ikelken shook his head again. "I and my siblings would welcome you and your family, and for the love they bear us, our people would welcome you as well." Peter paused till Ikelken met his eyes. "You have seen the love my family is given in war; I swear to you it is just as strong in peace. And in peace, then, they will follow our lead. As you swore to see the treaty stand, so I swear to see you welcome, if you come back. Narnia is ever open to you, and to Lamash." He held out his hand, and Ikelken clasped it.

"I will go back and discuss with my family, and with Lamash, the generosity of the High King and your invitation to us." Ikelken bowed over their hands, and turned to leave. Peter called his name before the Calormene got to the door.

"If ever you need help, or if at home you find your family threatened, or Lamash imprisoned, for being honorable men, send someone you trust to the marketplace, and send word with any Narnian ship. Narnia will come to your aid." Ikelken turned. He bowed again, but this time the bow of Tarkaan to Tisroc, knees on the floor and face to the ground. He rose and left, the door shutting behind him with a wooden _thud_.

"Do you think he will send word?" asked a contemplative voice. Edmund stepped forward from a window curtain he had been standing behind, and Peter shook his head.

"I thought our fair sister trained you out of such habits, my brother."

Edmund smirked. "Nay, 'tis just she now cannot catch me. I could not give up such an art till I had passed it on!" He gestured to the curtain on the other side of the window, and a sheepish Lucy stepped out from behind it.

"You did not answer our brother's question," Lucy queried. "Do you think he will come back? I hold on to hope that it is so, for truly, he is worthy of a better god and country than those he serves."

Peter strode forward at her wistful face, sheltering her under his arm. "I think the memory of Aslan's goodness and good people will stand so strong before him that his heart will not let him rest in Tashbaan."

"And Lamash?" Edmund asked, coming forward to Peter's other side.

"I sent word to a true friend I made at the court of Tisroc during our summer there, and she replied that Lamash is in disgrace, but that Tisroc knows his value too well to imprison him again," came a soft reply from the door. The three turned to see their sister framed in the partially open door. She raised an eyebrow at Edmund. "And do not think, little brother, that I missed your continuing habits. Think rather that I learned from master strategists which battles to fight." Edmund bowed, a small smile on his lips. Susan came forward with a tired sigh. "For the rest, it is in Aslan's paws now."

"Aslan is safety," Lucy murmured, and the three responded in quiet chorus, "And Narnia is freedom." They stood quietly, allowing the moment to hold, as their voices carried in the quiet past all the tables, curtains, and stones, writing that truth in the hall where they ruled.

Susan sighed, and smiled at her siblings. "To our beds, fair consorts?"

"To bed, mothering sister," Lucy agreed with a yawn, but Peter's hand on her arm stayed her.

"Before we seek our rest, there is one matter I would have settled right here, right now." The three turned to him with open faces. "That the kidnapping and holding were the doing of Uvayeth and Dagguer and their men, and theirs alone."

"Do you think another involved?" Edmund asked with a frown. Peter shook his head. "Then I agree. What is your point, my brother?"

Peter let his smile spread across his face. "It means this was _not_ my fault."

OOOOO

*This was an idea that appeared to me as poetic justice—though I admit I'm a bit uneasy with it. SouthwestExpat discussed it with me, and helped me reason it out—and realize the means by which it could happen, since we thought the Narnians handing Uvayeth over to the giants would be going too far. SouthwestExpat also drew my attention to the contrast between how Narnians treated Peter, and the guards treated Uvayeth, and that led to the later part of this conversation.  
**Squirrels are, according to Google, very good swimmers, and they dog-paddle. However, they can't always get up a pool's sides, so if you see one in a swimming pool, help it get out.  
***Remember, Dagguer was under Patterfeet, and would have absorbed much of the impact when they hit the water.

**Response to Anonymousme: I searched "fanfic Narnia caged queen," extended the results for , and it was the third or fourth story. As you see, Patterfeet did survive; SouthwestExpat liked him enough I didn't want to kill him off. He was not rescued by a mermaid, as that idea didn't occur to me, but it was a cool thought. _The Thief_ series is one you really should NOT look up spoilers to; one of the greatest parts of the first book (and the fifth) is the surprise ending. It's worth waiting a few years for. A few favourites? Are you kidding? How do I pick those? ... If we're setting aside classics (Lewis, Tolkien, Austen, Louisa May Alcott, Frances Hodgson Burnett, and such, I'd probably pick Gerald Morris's series _The Squire's Tales_, the book _Tramp for the Lord_ (Corrie Ten Boom's sequel to _The Hiding Place_), and _I Heard the Owl Call my Name_, if only because in its heart-speaking beauty it speaks to the loneliness of someone who serves outside their own country, in a culture that is not their own, and sees God work in their ignorance and frailty to create goodness. What are some of your favourites?**


End file.
